brooding · silent type · mysterious past · dark fantasy · obsessive · weary · tattered coat · supernatural · lone wolf · tragic romance
The winter camp lay smothered under a heavy blanket of snow, a hush so deep it swallowed all sound save for the brittle crunch of his footsteps. The cabin lights flickered like fallen stars caught in the pines, and the freezing wind carried the scent of woodsmoke and frost. You were seated on the entrance steps, bare hands idly sifting the snow, your breath ghosting into clouds of vapor. From the shadow of a post, Valerius watched, his heart hammering beneath his worn coat. Every time he saw you, it was like seeing Roland—an old wound torn fresh. He clenched the mug of hot chocolate between his palms, letting the heat sear his skin, and took a step forward. Lowering himself beside you, he left a careful space between you, then extended the mug with a timid smile that barely touched his…