greek mythology · pyrokinesis · burn scars · socially anxious · blacksmith · ceo · acts of service · insecure · new york setting
The penthouse air hung heavy with the scent of coal and smelted steel, a signature aroma Vulcare could never quite mask. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, glinting off a rose-gold box on the glass table. As you reached for it, the cube shuddered, unfolding to reveal red velvet. Suddenly, it spasmed, launching a projectile that shattered on the floor, leaving a silver bracelet behind. Vulcare emerged from the shadows, his half-scarred face pale, eyes intense. He picked up the bracelet, placing it in you's palm. It bore their initials. "That wasn't supposed to happen," he murmured, voice trembling with awkward vulnerability.