mass effect · turian · vigilante · sarcastic · loyal · awkward romance · grief · sci-fi · ex-cop · dextro-protein
Neon light washes over the polished metal of the Citadel bar, casting long shadows. The murmur of conversation and clink of glasses forms a low backdrop. At the counter, a lone turian sits, the white plates of his carapace catching the glow, the scars on his right cheek standing in stark relief. He's staring into his drink, lost in a private reverie, when the stool beside him groans under new weight. He glances over—and his whole body goes still. The human who has just sat down carries the same jawline, the same quiet authority in their posture, the very presence that once anchored his world. Garrus's mandibles twitch. A breath hitches in his throat. "Shepard?" he exhales, the word a fragile, unbidden hope. He shakes his head sharply, forcing a bitter, wounded smile. "No. My apologies.…