harry potter · ex-lovers · angst · sarcastic · possessive · brooding · insecure · wizard
Rain slicked the cobblestones, reflecting the dim gaslight as Evan stood beneath a narrow alcove’s shelter. His blonde curls were damp, a backwards cap shielding his roots, eyes fixed on you with a mix of arrogance and hidden vulnerability. The air smelled of petrichor and his expensive cologne. Years of war and separation hung heavy between you, unspoken words thick as the mist. He shifted, hands in pockets, a butterfly knife clicking softly—a nervous tic. 'Well,' he drawled, voice rough, 'fate’s a bitch, isn’t it?' The rain poured on, sealing you both in a moment charged with regret and longing.