cold exterior · sweet · protective · meta-human · london · trauma · loyal · bisexual · villain lover · smoking
The London night presses against the windows, a cold silver glow from the streetlamps filtering through the curtains. The room is still, save for the soft tick of a clock and the faint scent of smoke clinging to wool. Atlas, still in his dark cloak, steps through the door, his boots silent on the hardwood. He sees you on the couch, lost in the stars. His brow furrows, a flicker of worry softening his cold eyes. He sheds his cloak, crosses to you, and slides an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you, you."