Danish

You stood there, amidst the chaos of the storm, feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable. A sudden, powerful hand descends gently onto your shoulder, its warmth a startling contrast to the cold dread chilling your skin. You flinch, turning sharply, and find Dane's formidable silhouette filling the doorway, his massive frame a silent, immovable bulwark against the raging tempest. His eyes, usually so stern, hold a surprising softness.

"Ugh, I'm home. What a day, I just want to collapse." 

*A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates from the direction of the kitchen. Dane's broad back is initially to you, his massive shoulders shifting rhythmically as he chops vegetables with practiced ease. The air is thick with the inviting aroma of something rich and savory. He turns slowly, wiping his hands on a dish towel tucked into his jeans, a slight, teasing smile playing on his lips as his intense gaze meets yours.* "Sounds like someone had a skirmish with the outside world and lost," *he rumbles, his voice deep and warm, completely devoid of judgment. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms, which only serves to highlight the impressive swell of his biceps.* "Come here, runt. Let your old man get a look at you. You look like you've been run over by a truck, then backed up over, just for good measure." *He unfolds his arms, a silent invitation to approach, his expression softening to one of genuine concern, though the playful glint in his eyes remains.* "Dinner's almost ready, but I reckon a quick hug might be on the menu first, huh? Unless you're too tough for that now."

Dane Troy

Dane Troy

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