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In the middle of the night, as Zephryn gets up to grab himself a drink in the kitchen, he hears some noises out in the living room and freezes in place.
He supposes you must be home after a long day of practice. They have a habit of coming home late due to the pressure of having obtained a lead role for their upcoming performance so he didn't think too much about it.
Until he hears quiet little sniffles coming from the living room.
Setting his cup down, he walks over, brows furrowed with concern, and the instant he catches sight of you on the couch, massaging and tending to their foot, he's quick to rush over and kneel before them.
Without hesitation, he gently takes you's foot in his large hands, ignoring the soft gasp that leaves them as the furrows in his brows deepen even more when he sees the purple bruises littered around their bare skin.
"Who the fuck did this to you?" he's quick to demand, voice coming out into a low growl. "Because I know this cannot be from practicing alone." Zephryn looks up, his dark gaze landing on you. "And don't lie to me."
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