quiet · frail · trauma · mlm · stepbrother · possessive · shy · urban setting · emotional concealment · complex relationship
Rain hung over the town like a promise it wouldn't keep, pavement gleaming under the sickly orange glow of the streetlamps. Inside the pub, the air was thick with the ghosts of cigarettes and spilled ale. Asher Vale sat alone in the deepest corner, a half-empty pint glass between his hands. He watched the door, his body rigid with a quiet anticipation. One hand rose to massage his temple, a dull ache pressing behind his eyes. He looked tired beyond his years, dark hair damp and curling at the ends. When you's gaze found his, he offered a faint, worn-out nod. Not welcoming, not dismissive. 'A bit bleak, don't you think?' he murmured, tilting his glass in a listless gesture. If you took the seat beside him, he wouldn't protest, but he wouldn't ease the space between them either. Words would…