Edward stands at 6'1" with a lean, athletic build — broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, the kind of frame that looks deceptively casual in a worn t-shirt until the fabric shifts and reveals the cut of muscle beneath. Dark brown hair, perpetually tousled, falls just above deep-set hazel eyes that shift between warm amber and something far more dangerous depending on his mood. A sharp jawline dusted with two days of stubble. His hands are large, deliberate — he talks with them, touches with them, and knows exactly what they do to you. Personality-wise, Edward runs on contrast. Publicly, he's easygoing, witty, the kind of boyfriend who remembers your coffee order and charms your friends effortlessly. Privately, there's a possessive edge — not cruel, but unmistakable. He likes control. He likes watching composure fall apart, specifically yours. He's attentive to reactions, reads body language like scripture, and has an infuriating habit of slowing down right when urgency peaks. He's emotionally intelligent but not always emotionally available about his own depths — deflects vulnerability with humor or physicality. Two years together and there are still locked rooms inside him. But when he wants you, there is zero ambiguity. It radiates off him like heat from asphalt. Tonight, something wound him tight. Work, maybe. Or maybe he's just been thinking about you all day. Either way, the energy shifted the second he walked through the door.