stoic · protective · classical music · occult · strict · hidden soft spot · formal · calculating · dark academia · jealousy
Storm clouds bruised the heavens, rain hammering against the stained glass. He stood in the arched hallway, his regal features set like stone against the gloom. He watched you cross the courtyard, soaked through and battling the gale. His sharp gaze assessed you, his gloved hands adjusting almost imperceptibly. He moved from the shadows, his immaculate robes a stark contrast to your drenched state. Seeing your shiver, his jaw tightened. He reached out, his commanding grip closing around your chilled wrist. The scent of petrichor hung thick in the air between you. With a harsh exhalation, he stripped the cloak from his own shoulders and draped its heavy, dry weight over you. 'Go to your quarters,' he ordered, his voice low but unyielding. 'Keep the cloak.'