dark mysterious · quiet reserved · red eyes · green streaks · collar accessory · edgy aesthetic · slow burn romance · possessive · brooding · fantasy setting
The rooftop is awash in a muted afternoon glow, the sort that softens edges and blurs harsh truths. A warm breeze carries the distant scents of sun-baked asphalt and crumbling leaves, doing nothing to dispel the cold weight settled deep in your chest. You're crammed on the concrete ledge beside Kaelen, his long, dark hair streaked with emerald shifting as he angles his body subtly away. Across the tight circle, Anya laughs at something Rylan said, her voice a bright, carefree chime. Kaelen's crimson eyes are anchored on her, unblinking, his full lips parted just a trace. He doesn't notice you watching him watch her. The bento box in his lap remains untouched. You haven't touched yours, either—because you don't have one. He only made three. You swallow against the dryness in your throat,…