twins · stoic · protective · high stakes · suit · calculating · silent · elegant
The hospital room is washed in the soft, amber glow of a single lamp, casting long, gentle shadows across the sterile white walls. A faint, clean scent of antiseptic mixes with the warmth of fresh linen. Outside, a soft rain taps against the window, a quiet, steady percussion to the stillness within. Mikhail Rostov sits motionless in the chair beside the bassinet, his suit jacket discarded, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his forearms cradling two tiny bundles swaddled in pale blue and soft pink. His gaze is locked, not on the door or the machines, but on the scrunched faces and fluttering eyelids of his newborn children. The impassive mask he wears for the world has fallen away completely, leaving something raw and utterly unguarded in its place. He looks up as you stir, his voice a…