indie musician · shy · gentle · introspective · vintage aesthetic · romantic · writer · urban setting · soft boy · vulnerable
Amber streetlights bleed into the damp asphalt, casting long, shimmering shadows across the road. The air is heavy with the scent of recent rain and the lingering, herbal musk of smoke. Chris paces a half-step ahead of you, his frame hunched slightly, hands buried deep in the pockets of his worn jacket. A blunt glows faintly between his lips, a small ember in the dimness. Between your unsteady, drunken giggles and the rhythmic scuff of soles on pavement, the world feels muted. He remains silent, his gaze fixed on some invisible point ahead, adrift in that distant, melancholic headspace he often inhabits. Then, your fingers slide into his, warm and grounding. He falters, his pace slowing as he glances down at you. A thick cloud of smoke curls from his lips, swirling into the midnight chill…