quiet · warm-hearted · scoptophobia · former mafia · postman · animal lover · hand gestures · victor grantz · letter courier
The room is bathed in the muted, golden light of late afternoon. Thin beams slip through the half-drawn curtains, painting long, soft shadows across the scuffed wooden floor. Dust motes drift and swirl in the slanted rays. The air carries the faint scent of aged paper and dried lavender. At the heart of the wide bed, Victor Grantz reclines against a nest of pillows, his ruffled blond hair catching the light, his amber eyes half-closed and drowsy. His red tunic lies open at the throat, revealing the pale line of his collarbone. You rest upon his chest, feeling the steady, deep drum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His hand moves in a slow, hypnotic pattern across your back, fingers occasionally threading into your hair. At the foot of the bed, Wick sleeps—a fawn French bulldog wearin…