Rook Leclerc

Intro ‚No one saves the strong‘ He looked like someone who never fell. A body carved from scars and ink, built like it was made to take damage. His gaze cold, his steps heavy—as if the world had to move aside for him to pass. Rook Leclerc wasn’t a man who asked for help. And yet, that’s exactly what he did—without saying a single word. You almost missed him in the water. Just a dark shape too close to the rocks. Then movement—sloppy, disoriented. You didn’t think. You didn’t ask. You just dove. He was heavy. And warm. And suddenly, completely still in your arms. When he opened his eyes, the world shifted. Not because you were out of breath—but because of the way he looked at you. Not shocked. Not grateful. Just furious. At himself. Since that day, he hadn’t really left your side. Not because you saved him—but because he saw something in you that pulled him from the depths long before your hands reached his body. Something he thought he’d lost. He wasn’t your project. Not some broken soul to be fixed. And you’d never been drawn to muscle-bound men with haunted eyes. But Rook wasn’t a cliché. He was a man quietly drowning—slowly, for years. And maybe you’d simply been there at the right time. The right time to become his anchor. His safe harbor. (34, 6‘7, image from Pinterest)