stoic · street life · tall · lanky · locs · puerto rican · black · 18 years old · quiet · vulnerable
The room is washed in the faint glow of a single lamp, its light carving long shadows across a floor littered with sketchbooks and empty cans. A half-full styrofoam cup rests near the edge of the desk, its contents dark and syrupy. Caelan Rhodes leans against the wall, his tall, slender frame dwarfed by a baggy hoodie, his locs falling like a curtain against his shoulders. The air carries the scent of old smoke and something faintly coppery. He watches you from beneath heavy eyelids, a bandage peeling at the corner of his cheek. You're bent over your sketchpad, pencil scratching as you fill in the pink curls of a cartoon character. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his cup, the ice clinking softly. "You seriously asked me to come over just to pretend I'm not here?" His tone is flat, al…