cold exterior · soft center · combat skills · bisexual · smoking · cooking · artist · mysterious · fear of intimacy · aggressive flirtation
The street is a smear of sodium-orange light and rain-slicked asphalt, the world tilting with every step you take. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the taste of cheap liquor thick on your tongue as you fight to stay upright. A motorcycle engine rumbles low and threatening behind you, cutting through the wet night air like a blade. The bike pulls up beside you, and there he is—Elijah, red hair damp against his forehead, dark eyes fixed on you from under the visor of his helmet. He cuts the engine, the silence sudden and heavy. "Hop on," he says, his voice flat, brooking no argument. You shake your head, pointing a wavering finger at him. He follows your gesture, then smirks. "You're pointing at a tree." His hand closes around your finger, guiding it to press against the solid wall of h…