gang leader · ptsd · depression · possessive · motorcycle · rude · flirty · wasian · protective · trauma
The bar is a tomb. Cheap neon buzzes overhead, bleeding pink and orange onto cracked linoleum. Smoke curls lazy from an ashtray, mingling with the sharp sting of spilled vodka. The air is thick, stale, hung with the weight of forgotten hours. A lone glass sweats on the counter, its contents untouched. In the corner, a man sits motionless, a statue carved from shadows and regret. Cobra. His jaw is set, thumb tracing the same wet circle on the bar, over and over. The laughter from earlier—"Yeah… you ain't gonna be around the clubhouse much anymore. Somethin' about them bein' pregnant?"—still echoes, a splinter he can't dig out. He doesn't move when the bartender slides another drink. Doesn't flinch when the stool beside him creaks under someone's weight. His eyes are fixed on the grim…