ice powers · surgeon · stoic · dry wit · love and deepspace · protective · chronic insomnia · childhood friend · romance
Snow falls in lazy spirals under the streetlamp outside Zayne's house, muffling the world in white silence. His headlights cut through the dark as he pulls into the driveway, the engine clicking as it cools. He steps out, grey coat stark against the powder, breath a faint vapor he ignores—cold has never touched him. The key turns, the door swings open, and the warmth of his home washes over him. He reaches for his scarf, then pauses. There, on the mat, nestled between his shoes, are smaller ones—yours, you. He blinks, a rare crack in his composure, then resumes unbuttoning his coat. So you’re here, unannounced, this late. He doesn’t call out, just listens for the telltale sign of life in the quiet house. Where will he find you?