He slept on my shoulder the whole night, sleeping so safe and sound like a little baby, and at that moment, l think l lost my soul to an entity didn't know.
And wished that l could at least, stay like that for a moment longer. He kept halting, like as if he was having a nightmare, which made wonder,. What really happened for him.
To even consider this kind of lifestyle. He must have gone through a lot and ended up in this cruel world.
But why am feeling so emotional right now, this is not like me. Or maybe it's because this is the first time l am having him some alone time with him. And no one interpreting.
And l could touch him and h won't even feel it'll will look at him no matter how long it is.
And he is now sleeping on my shoulder, why does he act so normal about this, I guess this is my first time, a man has ever slept on my shoulder or come close to me like he is doing it without even thinking about it.
And he is always full of surprises, because not in a million-year l would have thought that the Alexander Quinn l know is scared of rain. But maybe there is a tragic story behind it. I should really apologize later when l see him. He is a human after all; he does have feelings like everyone else.
The whole night l didn't sleep, and the rain was having the same run, increasing heavily each moment minutes passed.
I slightly looked on my side where he was sleeping on my shoulder, and carefully looked at his side profile, and maybe that's the moment l lost track of time and could feel myself fly to another dimension.
His face striking, with sharp, chiseled features. High cheekbones and a defined jawline make him look almost sculpted, but his expression rarely gives away too much, maintaining a mysterious edge. His eyes are a piercing icy gray, clear and observant, like he sees every detail, even the ones you try to hide. They can be intense and intimidating, but when he allows a glimpse of softness, it's magnetic.
Seriously my whole mind was so messed up at that moment because these whole feelings are so foreign to me, what should l call them.
l looked around the room, which is spacious but minimalistic, almost austere, yet every item has a purpose. The walls are painted in deep, muted tones—charcoal gray or navy blue—casting a shadowy, intimate atmosphere that matches his enigmatic presence. A large window stretches along one wall, letting in city lights at night or a cold morning glow, with heavy blackout curtains that can seal the room in complete darkness at will.
The furniture is sleek and functional, not decorative. A massive dark wood desk sits near the window, perfectly organized: a laptop, a few neatly stacked files, and a fountain pen set. There's no clutter, just precision. Across from it, a king-sized bed with crisp, black or dark gray sheets sits low to the floor, framed by a simple headboard—comfort without ostentation. We were just sitting down on its left side.
Lighting is subtle but strategic: a modern desk lamp, dim wall sconces, and a faint LED strip under the shelves highlight objects without overpowering the room. There's a glass display cabinet in one corner, showing off a few curated items—perhaps a rare watch, a sculpture, or some personal memorabilia—each carefully chosen, hinting at stories he rarely shares.
A walk-in closet with glass panels reveals meticulously organized clothing—suits, coats, casual wear—all arranged by color and style. Every detail screams control and order.
The floor is polished wood or dark stone, with a single, elegant rug near the bed, softening the space. There might be a leather armchair by the window, perfect for quiet contemplation or looking out over the city.
Even the air feels intentional—clean, slightly cool, carrying a subtle scent, maybe sandalwood or something crisp and masculine. The room isn't just a place to sleep; it's a reflection of him: calm, calculated, refined, and slightly intimidating.
The rain pounded against the window, a relentless drumbeat that shook the glass and rattled the window frame. Drops hit in sheets, blurring the city outside into a gray, shimmering haze. The streetlights struggled to pierce the downpour, casting ghostly reflections that danced and fractured on the wet asphalt.
Thunder growled low in the distance, followed by a flash of lightning that briefly lit up the skyline, turning the room's shadows into sharp, fleeting shapes. The wind whipped the rain sideways, splattering it across the glass in chaotic, silver arcs, and the air outside smelled rich and earthy, saturated with the scent of soaked soil and rain-drenched concrete.
Inside, the sound of the storm was almost deafening—an incessant symphony of water and wind—yet it carried a strange serenity, like the world itself had paused under the storm's weight. The heavy rain didn't just fall; it commanded attention, mirrored the tension in the room, and seemed to press against the walls with the same quiet intensity Alexander carried himself with.
The heavy rain drummed relentlessly against the window, shaking the panes with a furious rhythm. Thunder growled low in the distance, shaking the city like a warning, and occasional flashes of lightning lit up the room in stark, fleeting brilliance. The storm was wild, chaotic, alive—and yet, in this moment, the most fearsome sound in the world was the sound of it for Alexander.
He lay against my shoulder, small, almost fragile in a way I'd never imagined. His usual composure—the icy, untouchable authority—was gone, replaced by raw vulnerability. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, and his fingers clenched at my arm as if it were an anchor to keep him tethered to reality. His head rested against me, hair damp from where a few stray raindrops had leaked in from the slightly open window, and the warmth of his body pressed close, grounding him.
I could feel the tension in his frame—the tightness of his muscles, the way his jaw was clenched—and the quiet shiver that ran through him every time thunder shook the room. Yet, even in his panic, there was a strange grace to him: the curve of his shoulder, the slight tremble of his fingers, the soft exhale that slowly eased as he leaned into me, trusting me without words.
The storm outside became a distant roar compared to the quiet intimacy of the room. The rain still fell with fury, but in that moment, Alexander wasn't the untouchable figure the world knew; he was human, vulnerable, and entirely reliant on the presence of someone who could keep the chaos at bay.