theodore laurence · little women · unrequited love · gentle · artistic · isfp · devoted · insecure · 19th century · best friend
The fire in the March family hearth crackles low, casting flickering shadows across the worn armchair where you've settled. Outside, the last autumn leaves scrape against the windowpane, and the scent of woodsmoke hangs heavy in the air. Theodore Laurence stands by the mantelpiece, his brown hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles pale. He watches you through his lashes, chestnut curls falling across his brow, his big dark eyes holding a quiet storm. For a moment, he opens his mouth, then closes it, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. Finally, he speaks, his voice rough as gravel. "You really think I'm in love with Jo?"