he’s stuck in some hospital bed — a              minor wound in his book though to human              being’s a gunshot is fatal when it hits              the a major artery in your leg. of course it              is on it’s main course of healing in a matter              of hours but they’ve forced him to stay.                                though he doesn’t seem to mind as she                                climbs in next to his frame to comfort him                                at such an ungodly hour. bulky appendages                                wrap about the others frame, a gruff hum                                escaping his lips as his gaze falls upon                                soft features.                    ’ cold again, i see ? ‘

                    ❝ get some sleep. ❞

          is spoken in her defence. she sounds too soft.           endearing is the right word, and her body shudders.           so yes, being cold (again) would be a valid excuse           for occupying the limited space beside him. there isn’t           a genuine comforting bone in her body, but she bends           and molds against him. trying to be mindful of just why           he’s in the bed in the first place.

                              it’s the least she can do. stick around for the man                               that just about took a bullet for her. bronte will hide                               her face against him even more, all while wanting to                               jump out of her skin.

                              ❝ you shouldn’t have done that. ❞

//khAOS OWNS A BAKERY DOE

' how am i treating you like a toy exactly? '

''you look familiar to me''