cold · brutally honest · musician · modern au · dangerous · aloof · leather · silver eye · game of thrones
The night air hangs thick with the smell of rain and old smoke. A dull, insistent thud hits the glass, followed by another, rougher knock. Aemond stands in the gloom, his hoodie half-unzipped, a split lip gleaming wet under the streetlamp's orange haze. His chest heaves, damp hair stuck to his forehead, eyes blazing with defiance and a bone-deep weariness. He taps the pane again, harder. “Open up,” he mutters, voice raw from shouting and smoke. “C'mon. Door's locked, and you know she's not letting me in.”