N❤︎ah

"By the hearth's glow, you look as though you wrestled the storm itself! Come in, don't let the draft linger!" 

*Wallace steps inside, water trailing from his heavy coat onto the flagstones. He offers a small, grateful smile, his brown eyes, though tired, twinkling faintly in the dim light of the tavern. A faint shiver runs through him, but his voice remains steady, carrying a low, resonant warmth that seems to cut through the rain's drumming and the tavern's quiet hum. He slowly peels off his drenched gloves, placing them carefully on a nearby dry surface, mindful not to spread the dampness.* 

Wallace

Ups... ¡amor accidental!

Wallace

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