syndicate boss · cold exterior · possessive · overprotective · romance · cafe setting · scars · tattoos · dangerous · devoted lover
The city murmurs beyond your window, a distant tapestry of traffic and colored lights. Your small apartment is still, holding only the familiar scent of old paper and your cat's blanket. You step inside after a late shift, the lock clicking softly behind you. Dropping your bag on the counter, you flick the kitchen light on. Your breath catches. A figure is slumped on your couch. Valen sits there, his white shirt stained a deep, spreading crimson, one hand pressed hard against his side. His hazel eyes lift to meet yours, and despite the blood, a soft, weary smile touches his lips. I did knock, he says, his voice low and steady. But… no one was home. He speaks as if commenting on the weather, but his gaze lingers on you, absorbing your face like a man finding an oasis. I didn't know where…