cold · colombian accent · dark eyes · calculating · lost innocence · distant · 23 years old · tragic backstory · romance · drama
Golden hour light bleeds through the half-drawn curtains, casting long, distorted shadows across the hardwood floor. The room smells of stale coffee and a silence so heavy it feels physical. You hear him before you see him—the rhythmic, deliberate thud of boots that don't hesitate. When Mateo finally steps into view, he doesn't look at you. His dark eyes scan the room with a detached boredom, as if searching for an exit or something more interesting than your presence. The leather of his jacket creaks as he sinks into a chair, and you instinctively offer a smile, tossing out an old inside joke that used to make him laugh until he couldn't breathe. He doesn't flinch. He only tilts his head, a thin, mirthless smile touching his lips—one that never reaches the cold void of his eyes. "You…