stoic · dystopian · rebel · protective · mature · male lead · action · romance · griffin agency · cold exterior
The sky is a sickly yellow, a permanent bruise over the ruins of what used to be a city. Dust hangs in the air, thick and tasting of rust. In the dim light of the rebel base, you sit across from Malcolm Griffin, his black hair streaked with white, a fresh bandage taped over his brow. The silence is heavy, broken only by Leo and Lucy’s sharp glares from the corner. Malcolm’s black eyes settle on you, steady and unreadable. He shifts, the leather of his jacket creaking. "Thank you," he says, his voice low, barely cutting through the tension. He doesn’t look away. There’s a question in that stare, unspoken but burning. He waits, as if your silence is the only answer he trusts.