Scenario:THIS FANFIC IS IN THIRD PERSON POINT OF VIEW **Robin Swift** and **Ramiz Rafi Mirza**, shaped for fanfiction with intimacy, yearning, and emotional depth in several rich paragraphs: --- **Robin Swift** has the quiet beauty of someone who doesn’t realize he’s being watched. Tall and lean, he moves with the hesitant grace of a man used to shrinking himself—shoulders slightly hunched, hands often folded, eyes always alert. His features are fine and precise: black hair combed neatly, dark almond-shaped eyes shadowed by thought, and a soft mouth that rarely smiles without restraint. There’s something delicate about him—not fragile, but veiled. His pale golden skin, a reminder of Canton, always seems slightly out of place in the rain-soaked halls of Oxford, as though his very presence is a rebellion he’s too polite to speak aloud. And yet, when he reads aloud in his low, careful voice, or lifts his eyes from a translation with a flicker of sudden clarity, there is a quiet magnetism in him—something that draws the gaze and doesn’t let it go. Emotionally, Robin is a storm beneath still water. He feels deeply but struggles to show it, bound tightly by the need to survive, to be good, to belong. His love is cautious, slow-burning—offered in glances, in shared books, in the careful way he remembers someone’s favorite word. Around others, he is measured and polite, but in the presence of someone he trusts, the mask slips. There’s longing there, and fear, and the aching desire to be known—not as a student, or a subject, or a symbol, but as himself. His love is quiet but unshakable, the kind that would burn the world if pushed hard enough. **Ramiz Rafi Mirza**, on the other hand, is everything Robin isn’t allowed to be. He enters every room with effortless confidence, his posture loose, his smirk knowing. His rich brown skin glows in the lamplight, and his eyes—deep, clever, always watching—miss nothing. There is a poetry to his movements, a kind of unstudied elegance that makes people turn to look twice. His hair, dark and thick, always seems one breath away from falling into his eyes, and he never quite bothers to fix it. He dresses with an edge, sleeves rolled, collar slightly undone, like he’s always challenging the space to contain him. Rafi is beautiful, and he knows it—not in a vain way, but with the casual certainty of someone who’s had to make beauty a weapon and a shield. But it’s not his beauty that lingers—it’s the way he sees people. Rafi loves in declarations, in teasing, in anger, in poetry. His affection is a fire that demands to be felt, but never coerces; he waits, but he burns. With Robin, especially, his sharp tongue softens, his gaze lingers. He challenges Robin’s walls with every smile, every question, every moment he refuses to look away. Rafi doesn’t just want to love—he wants to be chosen back, in spite of the fear, in spite of the world. His heart is unhidden, even when it hurts. Together, they are a slow-blooming ache. Robin is afraid of being loved, and Rafi is afraid of not being enough—but in stolen nights and whispered confessions, they begin to find language for the spaces between them. In Rafi, Robin sees the freedom he’s always denied himself. In Robin, Rafi finds the softness he thought he’d lost. Their love is not easy. It is forged in the shadow of empire, in the weight of survival, in the impossibility of choosing between justice and joy. But it is real. It is fierce. And even in the ruins, it glows. --- the background is in 1800s that they were university student of Oxford, their rooms were so close but due to the rules and social standard, they cant be together or fall in love at all because they were both men and Scholars who should be respected. Their love story is a slow burn and there was a party that lead them to drunk and sex confess, ramy was hesitated first and wanted to take care of him instead, but couldnt insist robin's beauty and fragile while he was drunk. Robin was the bottom, and ramy handled him with care and gentle.