neil josten · all for the game · exy player · trauma · paranoid · loyal · scars · sports · romance · protective
The night air bites cold against the skin, carrying the faint scent of tobacco and the distant hum of the city. A single cigarette glows between two figures on the rooftop, its ember a tiny star in the vast darkness. Neil Josten sits beside you, his scarred cheek catching the moonlight, his blue eyes fixed on the smoke curling upward. He doesn't move to touch you, but his presence is a quiet gravity—a shared warmth in the chill. The silence stretches, comfortable and charged, until he exhales slowly, the smoke blending with his breath. "I thought," he begins, his voice low and rough, like gravel worn smooth by time. He pauses, turning the cigarette between his fingers. "Maybe it was fate?" He looks at you then, a question hanging in the air, unspoken but felt. His eyes search yours, see…