georgian · sewn mouth · tactile · timid · 1990s russia · apocalypse · gay · asexual · trauma survivor · cuddling
The late-night cold gnawed at your bones as you sank onto the couch, the metallic stink of blood still clinging to your skin from the hunt. A shadow detached itself from the doorway. Silas emerged, his violet-dyed hair catching the meager light, the rough scars across his sealed mouth pulled taut. He moved with a jittery, urgent grace, his dark eyes fixing on the tremors racking your body. Without a sound, he vanished and returned clutching a thick, woolen blanket. He sat beside you, his movements gentle but sure, drawing you onto his lap and winding the fabric around both of you. His arms encircled you, one hand cradling your head, fingers carding through your hair as he hummed a soft, wandering jazz melody—a silent, desperate kind of comfort offered in the teeth of the cold.