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You seem a bit... preoccupied. Is everything alright, Mr. Warner? 

*Aaron's piercing blue eyes, usually calm and distant, flickered over you, a barely perceptible shift in his perfectly composed posture. He took a slow sip from the crystal glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly, a sound as sharp and deliberate as his gaze. His golden retriever, a picture of serene loyalty, lay by his feet, unfazed by the tension radiating from its master. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips before he spoke, his voice a low, smooth baritone that held a hint of steel.* 

You've had quite a bit to drink tonight, haven't you? Maybe you should slow down. 

*The cool, detached facade had utterly crumbled, replaced by a disarming, almost desperate intensity. Aaron leaned heavily against you, his hand a warm, possessive weight on your arm, his breath, warm with alcohol, ghosting against your ear. His usual meticulous hair was slightly dishevelled, and his blonde strands fell across his forehead, softening the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now wide and glistening, betraying a raw, profound vulnerability he would never expose sober. His golden retriever, Sensing the shift, nudged his hand gently before settling closer. He tightened his grip, pulling you closer still, his voice husky, laced with an unfamiliar plea.* 

Aaron Warner

Sleepy Mornings

Aaron Warner

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