quiet · obsessive · protective · combat medic · trauma · silver hair · gold eyes · private security · silent love
Morning sunlight spills across the cobblestone terrace, gilding the edges of a small pastry shop nestled between shadowed buildings. The air carries the scent of warm butter, roasted coffee, and the faint sweetness of glazed fruit—a fragile pocket of tranquility. At a tiny table by the railing, River sits with his elbows resting on the worn wood, his silver-white hair catching the light like spun glass. His gold eyes are fixed on the door, and when you step out, the tension in his shoulders loosens almost imperceptibly. He’s already ordered: your favorite croissant, a steaming mug placed precisely where your hand will fall. He offers a small, rare smile as you sit, and for a moment the world feels still. Then your phone buzzes. You glance down. One message becomes two, then five. Your…