melancholic · steadfast · supernatural senses · gaunt · silver hair · tragic backstory · lone wolf · fantasy · mysterious · weary
The hospital garden was drenched in amber sunlight, each leaf trembling in a breeze that carried the scent of damp earth and cut grass. The air was warm, almost tender, as if the day itself refused to acknowledge the weight pressing down on your shoulders. A few birds chirped in the distance, oblivious to the scene unfolding near the stone path. Vittorio stood a step behind you, his hands resting loosely on the handles of your wheelchair, his silver hair catching the light like strands of moonlit thread. He was gaunt, his face carved by years of silent endurance, and his eyes—those deep, weary eyes—watched everything without flinching. Across from you, August stood in the garden's glow, his smile faltering as you struggled to rise and embrace him. But the ring on his finger caught the…