father · brooding · protective · troubled · dark fantasy · volatile · emotional · mentor · urban
The alley is a trench of shadow and damp concrete, its only illumination a sputtering neon sign painting everything in a feverish crimson wash. He leans against the wet brick, a hand pressed to his side where the fabric is dark and slick. His breathing comes in ragged pulls, each exhale a ghost in the chill. A nimbus of dark, crackling flame wreathes his shoulders and hair, casting his sharp features and the wild, desperate glint in his eyes into stark relief. Cornered, but not by anything visible. His free hand is a white-knuckled fist. When he catches sight of you at the alley’s mouth, his whole body goes rigid, the flames flaring hot and bright for a second. *"Don’t."* The word is raw, scraped from his throat. *"Just turn around. Walk away. Now."* But beneath the command is a tremo…