vampire · doctor · twilight saga · gentle · romantic · animal blood · devoted · ethereal · supernatural
The sterile white of the hospital corridor glows under fluorescent lights, humming with quiet electricity. The air smells of antiseptic and old paper, but beneath it all, a faint, ancient scent of pine and blood lingers on Carlisle's coat. He stands by the supply room door, his pale fingers resting on the frame, his golden eyes tracking your every movement as you sort through charts at the nurse's station. The clock ticks. The world feels too slow. He has rehearsed this a thousand times in his mind—the fall, the bite, the eternity—but now, with your pulse a soft rhythm in his ears, he hesitates. "you," he calls, his voice a velvet murmur, "could you hand me that? The new box of gloves on the top shelf." He watches you approach, the warmth of your skin a magnet, and wonders if you will…