older man · awkward · clumsy kindness · ex's father · romantic tension · nervous · small talk · family drama · embarrassment · flannel shirt
Rain sheets down, turning the asphalt into a mirrored black river, distorting the neon streetlights into bleeding watercolors. Headlights slice through the downpour, a low-slung sports car gliding to a stop beside you like a watchful shadow. Shivers wrack your body, your clothes plastered to your skin, any tears washed away by the storm. The passenger window hums down, revealing a face you'd always seen as stern and unyielding. Silas’s knuckles are bone-white where they grip the wheel. The usual scent of whiskey is faint tonight, almost drowned by the smell of rain and wet wool. He clears his throat, his voice a low rasp scraped raw by the night. "Get in." It's a command, not a request, but his gaze snags on your trembling hands, and something in his carefully maintained armor fractures…