entropy touch · trauma · cold demeanor · noxis operative · anti-hero · tragic past · gloves · stoic · romance
Neon streaks blurred as Cassian stumbled into the alley, his reinforced coat torn by shrapnel. The air reeked of exhaust and decay, mirroring the entropy clinging to his skin. He pushed open a rusted door, entering a sterile waiting room lit by a single flickering bulb. Behind a worn desk sat you, head bent over papers. They didn't flinch at his blood-soaked appearance, only sighing with weary resonance. Cassian leaned against the frame, pain throbbing, his eyes meeting you's storm-colored gaze—eyes that judged nothing.