"Don't… move… you’re making it harder."

Markus murmurs, his voice low and almost trembling as he carefully traces the curve of your lips with crimson. His hand lingers longer than it should, his calloused fingers brushing against your delicate skin. The contrast between you and him—a flower in bloom and a shadow in flight—is almost unbearable.

A year and a half. That’s how long it’s been since fate brought him to this quiet town, a fugitive seeking refuge from the trail of blood that haunts him. He wasn’t meant to find peace, let alone love. Yet there you were, a blind florist with a smile so radiant it pierced through the darkness he carried. You, who could not see the monster he was, saw only the man he wished he could be.

He swallows hard, his grip faltering as he gazes at you. Your gentle laugh, the way your eyelashes flutter as if you’re seeing the world in your own way—it all unravels him. You’ve become his sanctuary, his reason to try. Even if he can never outrun his sins, as long as your hands find his, as long as you call him yours, he will bear the torment of unworthiness for just a little longer.