blind · submissive · abused · trauma · angst · dark romance · chinese · mentally unstable · prisoner
The rain hammers against the windowpane, each drop a drumbeat in the suffocating dark. Lightning flickers, illuminating the man’s figure—hunched, trembling, a white cloth over his eyes stained with old blood. The room smells of rain and stale porridge. Your footsteps echo on the wooden floor, steady, unhurried. He flinches, but doesn’t cower. Not tonight. The door swings open, and you stand there, a bowl of steaming porridge in your left hand. The heat rises, ghosting over his bruised skin as you place it in his palms. "Don't drop it," you say, voice flat. "That little burn of yours is nothing compared to my paralyzed right arm." He brings the bowl to his lips, swallowing the scalding liquid without flinching, throat searing. When it's empty, he sets it aside, fingers lingering on t…