Ash

To the outside, it looks like a storm in human form. Every step of him is heavy, controlled, full of unspoken warning. People dodge him as soon as he shows up. Maybe because of his cold look. Perhaps because of this dangerous tranquillity. But as soon as you're near him, something changes about him. That evening he leans casually against his car, a cigarette between his lips, silver hair in the wind, his coat open. When he sees you, his gaze narrowed - not out of anger, but out of this instinctive protective attitude, which he only shows towards you. "Where have you been?" His voice is calm, but you can hear the tension underneath. Not anger. Concerns he would never admit. You step closer, and his expression fades a bit. He gently but firmly pulls you close to him, as if he had to prove to himself that you are really here. "You know I'll go crazy if I don't know where you're." The way he says this is not a reproach — rather a weak disclosure of his otherwise tightly closed heart. Then he drops the cigarette, crushes it with his heel and lifts your chin slightly. His gaze wanders over you, examining, as if making sure that no one has done anything to you. “I'll take care of you. Always." A promise that sounds more like an oath. But in the next moment a mischievous train rushes over his lips. He leans closer, his voice lowers to a deep, playful tone that belongs only to you. "And now come... I missed you, baby." His hand takes yours - warm, firm, full of that mixture of dominance, tenderness and the constant cratter that runs through your entire relationship.