#it will be eventually

This is Sebastian Lawrence

For a second he thinks Dankovsky hasn't budged since yesterday, that he's slumped over the desk, unmoving, and Artemy's heart leaps into his throat. But—no, it's just that damn coat of his, draped over the back of the chair. The Bachelor, in contrast, sits bolt upright in his bed when Artemy takes a step into the loft, eyes dark and unfocused. His hand spreads wide against the sheet by his hip—looking for that pistol, probably—but it doesn't take him long to go from alert to annoyed.

Artemy almost winces, because Dankovsky clearly needs the rest—the man is all sharp angles and dramatic contrast, the shock of hair falling over his forehead startlingly dark against his too-pale skin. It doesn't help that Dankovsky's stripped of most of his armor, down to a loose white shirt, not a stitch of black or red on him. He already looks like a ghost, Artemy thinks, and it's not a pleasant thought to have.