Dorian walked into the mess-hall, heading straight for inventory. He walked with purpose like he was on a mission. He wanted to check on the girl that he had found the night of the party, not that he even knew that there was a party. That particular night he spent patrolling Sanctuary, in the wee hours of the morning he discovered someone curled against the gate, rifle in hand. Just looking at her he could tell that she wasn’t doing well so he rushed her to the infirmary. Dorian felt some degree of responsibility for the girl, considering that he had been the only thing that stood between her and dying that day.
He walked up behind her, leaning against the door frame with two glasses and a bottle of something strong in his hands. “Hey, trouble, you look like you could use a drink.” The male commented, his signature smirk on his face. He placed the bottle and the glasses down on the counter, stepping into the room and gently placing his hand on her shoulder. “Seriously though, how’re you doing?” Dorian asked, his gaze softening as he looked at her, he cared, and he wanted her to know that.
@meperosus












