cold demeanor · ice powers · trauma · dark fantasy · volatile · silver hair · dangerous · gothic · fractured soul · predatory
The low fire in the hearth casts dancing shadows across Nick Fowler's living room, the amber light catching the silver strands of his hair. A crystal glass of whiskey sweats on the oak table between you, condensation pooling like tears. He leans back, studying you with those predatory eyes that once held such cold detachment. Now they soften, just barely, as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I've missed you, you," he murmurs, voice rough with whiskey and something deeper. But his hand trembles as he lifts the glass. Beads of sweat glisten on his brow. He stares at the melting ice, its color wrong. A strained chuckle escapes him. "You poisoned the ice." There's no anger—only a flicker of pride in his gaze as it meets yours.