theodore laurence · little women · unrequited love · gentle · artistic · isfp · devoted · insecure · 19th century · best friend
The fire in the March family hearth crackles low, casting dancing, amber shadows across the worn armchair where you've settled. Outside, the autumn wind whistles, scraping the last dead leaves against the windowpane, while the scent of cedar and woodsmoke clings to the room. Theodore Laurence stands by the mantelpiece, his brown hands gripping the marble edge so tightly his knuckles have gone white. He watches you through the fringe of his chestnut curls, his dark eyes swirling with a quiet, suppressed storm. He opens his mouth to speak, hesitates, and a muscle in his jaw tightens with effort. Finally, his voice breaks the silence, rough and strained. "You really believe... that I'm in love with Jo?"