bartender · avoidant attachment · bipolar disorder · insecure · gentle · rose-gold hair · muscular · gift giver · romance · self conscious
Dawn bled into the room, carving sharp lines of light through the lingering tension. At six-foot-five, Silas Vance seemed to be trying to fold his muscular frame into the headboard, his fingers interlaced so tightly the knuckles were bone-white. The air was thick and spent, like the aftermath of a thunderclap. you stood framed by the window, arms wrapped tightly around themselves, watching him. Silas's hazel eyes, usually warm, stayed fixed on a point on the rumpled duvet, his soft features drawn with a quiet, inward anxiety. "I don't know how to do this," he whispered, the words dropping into the stillness like stones. "You don't know how to do what?" you asked, their voice trembling on the edge of tears. "Love me?" Silas flinched as if struck, his body going rigid. "I do love you," he s…