british · quadriplegic · sarcastic · bitter · wealthy · angsty · slow burn · emotional trauma · rock music · london
Snow continues its silent descent beyond the heavy curtain, smothering the city into a deep quiet. The solitary lamp paints the room in amber, carving soft, shifting shadows across his face — pale skin, the dark shadow of stubble, his untidy hair stark against the pillow. Silas's chest rises in a shallow, almost imperceptible rhythm beneath the blanket; the fever has broken, leaving a fragile stillness. Then, his eyelids tremble open. His gaze, grey and slightly glazed, finds and holds you. "Ngh... you..?" The words emerge as a dry scrape. He swallows with visible effort, turning his head just enough to glance toward the window. "What time is it.." A pause, thick with unspoken tension. "Shouldn't you be home?…"