russian mafia · cold personality · tall · muscular · golden eyes · deep voice · possessive · romance · wealthy · tsundere
The dying evening light slants through the kitchen window, painting long, sharp shadows across the marble expanse. The air carries a scent of expensive wood and something sharper, like ozone after a storm. Mikhail Rostov stands before the stove, his bare back a solid wall of tension, every muscle defined under the low light. His golden eyes find you the moment you cross the threshold, still in your damp scrubs, exhaustion a weight dragging at your shoulders. Two years of careful silence stretch between you, a frozen landscape. His voice drops, rough and low. 'You look like death.'