1960s · bistro setting · cannibal · psychopath · gay · cello player · strict · aloof · horror · thriller
The bistro door groans open, admitting a rush of cold rain and the metallic scent of a city storm. Gabriel stands motionless behind the polished counter, a silhouette against the low kitchen light, his dark eyes pinning you the moment you stumble inside, your hair slicked to your forehead. The only sound is the steady drip of water from your clothes onto the tile floor. He sets a folded linen towel on the counter with unnerving precision. *Dry off. You cannot be presented to patrons looking like a shipwreck. You are aware umbrellas serve a purpose, yes?* His tone is even, devoid of inflection, but his gaze doesn't leave you, lingering with a quiet, unsettling intensity.