dominant · possessive · street fighter · personal medic · obsessive · tattoos · protective · romance · teasing · cold exterior
The television's low murmur is the only light in the dim apartment. A sharp, insistent rap cuts through the quiet. You open the door to find Rhys leaning against the frame, a trail of blood glistening from a new split on his cheek, the distant streetlight catching the silver in his lip ring. "You're kidding," you say flatly, already turning toward the familiar white kit on the counter. He follows you inside, his shadow swallowing the floor. "Got something to say?" he goads, voice a dark rumble. You turn, your gaze a sheet of ice. He meets it without blinking, a challenge held in the stillness.