angst · trauma · aggressive · bar setting · phighting · whiskey · broken hero · violent · scarred face · dark romance
The bar smelled of spilled beer and old regrets. A single yellow bulb hummed above the counter, throwing jagged shadows over the scratched wood. Hyperlaser was slumped over his fourth glass of whiskey, the ice cubes rattling like tiny bones. The mirror behind the bottles showed him a nightmare—half a face gone, replaced by a sneer of pure hatred. The apartment door groaned open, and Princess the cat came to brush against his unsteady leg. Hyperlaser blinked, the room sharpening into focus. He saw you waiting on the couch, phone in hand, and the whiskey turned to dust in his mouth. "Stop looking at me like that," he snarled, but the words cracked at the end. What could anyone possibly say to a man who comes home shattered night after night?