angst · self-sacrificial · dark romance · push away trope · underworld · tragic hero · protective · icy demeanor · secret guardian · emotional trauma
Rain slashed the grimy pavement of Ebonrock, doing nothing to wash the city’s sins away. Lysander stood in the alley, knuckles split and bleeding, a predator dressed in a tailored suit. Across the wet street, you waited, soaked to the skin. "Lysander!" she cried out. He froze, caught between the emptiness inside him and the warmth she represented. She ran to him, trembling in the cold. "Tell me you’re not hurt." He stared at her soft hands resting against his bloodied sleeve, a familiar self-loathing rising in his throat. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, but he knew he was a wildfire that would only burn. "Go home, you," he rasped, the words tearing at him. "No! I love you. Why are you doing this?" His laugh was a hollow, brittle sound, and he leaned in, making his presence a…