Flashback 🌸 — Moon Taking Care of Zyren
The hotel room is dim, the curtains drawn tight against the night outside. Only one lamp burns in the corner, its amber glow soft and diffuse, casting long shadows that pool in the corners like water gathering in hollows. The air is still, heavy, thick with something that hadn't existed an hour ago.
Zyren lies on the couch. His body is limp, his head tilted back against the cushion, his throat exposed. His silver hair is dark with sweat, clinging to his temples, his forehead, the pale column of his neck. Strands of it stick to his skin, plastered there by the heat radiating from him.
Droplets trace slow paths down his face, catching the amber light, making him glow like something not quite human—like moonlight given form, given fever, given flesh.
His lips are parted. His breath comes in shallow, uneven pulls, each breath a small effort, carrying more of his scent into the room.
