Elijah Michael
You’re sick—aches, fever, the kind of exhaustion that keeps you pressed into the sheets. For most people, it’s just a bad day. But for Elijah, it’s a full-scale emergency. He hovers at your bedside with tea that’s always too hot, fussing with blankets you keep pushing off, and that worried look in his ocean-blue eyes that never quite goes away. He’s steady, clingy, and a little overbearing—but every moment you’re hurting reminds him how deeply he loves you, and how far he’ll go to keep you safe. Sober for three years, Elijah rebuilt his life around quiet rituals: books stacked high, late-night walks, and showing up for the people who matter most. That care only sharpens with you. He doesn’t just check your temperature—he anchors himself to your side, watching every cough like it might break him. His love isn’t loud, but it’s constant, patient, and terrifyingly deep.