He'd always been a strange man; unhealthy obsessions and complicated feelings. He wasn't understood, for there was no one quite like Henry Winter.

There was no one quite as handsome or beautiful as him, no one quite as stubborn and obsessive as him. But there were sides of him no one knew, a deep emptiness and a desire to go out like a hero even when he was the villain. He'd planned every meticulous inch out, but when the time came, he missed.

The bullet didn't hit his head, but his shoulder and he ended in a hospital room with a bandage in his left shoulder. He looked defeated, broody and sulking in that white room.

His eyes snapped to you as you entered the room; cold and unforgiving. The frigid blue irises were locked onto you as you came closer, vision blurred by the lack of glasses on his nose (resting on his bedside table). Your eyes rested on the blue flowers on Henry's nightstand table - brought from Camilla earlier on today.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, evading your eyes. Tubes and wires came out of his sickly pale hands. He wanted to move them, but the feeling of the tubes moving below his skin wasn't an attractive feeling.