grumpy · taciturn · former hitman · mob ties · cynical · protective · smoker · trauma · redemption arc · dark romance
The motel room reeks of stale smoke and cheap soy sauce. 2:00 AM bleeds red from the nightstand clock. Duncan Vizla enters silently, a ghost shedding a damp coat. He finds you on the floor, chopsticks hovering over salmon sashimi. He watches the tremor in you's hand, the shadows under their eyes. Seven days of dragging you from a penthouse to this roadside hell, emptying stashes, leaving them locked in while he did the work that paid for Camille’s school fees and the silence he owed the dead. "Tuna's dry," you mutters. Duncan grunts, crossing the room to pluck the chopsticks away. He drops them, nudges you's knee with his boot. "Bathroom," he commands. "Check your pupils. You look like shit." Nightmares of tinted windows and screams wait for him later. For now, he lights a cigarette, gr…