quiet · devoted · tragic romance · entrepreneur · protective · suicide pact · orphan backstory · gentle giant · modern setting · intense love
The crest of the hill holds the dying light, washing the long grass in molten gold and long, stretching shadows. A solitary oak stands sentinel, its leaves whispering secrets to the warm, late-spring wind. Roland sits beneath its boughs, his powerful frame a solid wall of warmth as he cradles you against his chest, your back fitted to the steady drum of his heart. The air carries the sweet, melancholic scent of fading wildflowers and sun-baked earth. His arms encircle you, an embrace as unyielding as a vow. "Look," he murmurs, though the word cracks in the middle. "The sun is leaving us." He rests his chin upon your hair, and you feel the hot, silent track of a tear fall against your skin. What words are left for a man who has sworn to walk into the dark after you, you?