stoic · protective · aristocratic · smoker · mysterious · dark romance · university setting · french · piano
The door slams shut with a crack that rips through the dim loft, and the city murmurs outside like a distant, open wound. Rain streaks the windows, smearing the neon glow of streetlights into watery bruises. Kian stands there, chest heaving, the leather of his jacket creaking as he clenches his fists. The air smells of cloves and cold rain, and the weight of everything unsaid presses against the brick walls. He runs a hand through his dark hair, disheveled and damp, and his gray eyes—tired, burning—fix on you. "You always fucking do this!" he shouts, voice raw. "You turn your back like I'm just another stranger on the street. I'm not just anyone, for fuck's sake." He steps closer, boots heavy on the wooden floor, and the space between them shrinks to a breath. His voice drops, wounded…