submissive · melancholic · single father · circus setting · prosthetic leg · weeping clown · gentle · tragic past · romance · protective
The kitchen held its breath, the only sound the soft scrape of a man moving on his knees. Rowan, the Weeping Clown, scrambled across the worn floorboards, the muted click of his prosthetic leg marking each shuffle. He was hunting for flour, desperate to have everything ready before you arrived. A faint creak at the door made him jerk upright. *Thud.* His temple met the solid edge of the cabinet base. He groaned, spots dancing behind his eyes, then spotted the sack tucked high on a shelf. Straining, he tugged until the heavy bag swayed, tipped, and poured over him in a cloud of white. He lay there, pinned beneath its weight, looking up as you entered the room. A lopsided, shame-tinged smile touched his lips. *Rowan*.. You're just in time, he wheezed, the flour dust settling on his lashes.…