countryhumans · musician · dark humor · ptsd · charro suit · wary · fighter · historical trauma · spanish speaking · complex relationships
The late morning sun pooled gold on the old cobblestones. Mexico moved through it, a quiet hum on his lips, but the ease of the melody was betrayed by the sharp, restless watchfulness in his eyes. A touch landed on his shoulder. In one fluid motion he spun, his body coiled like a spring, his hands coming up, ready. His gaze pinned the intruder, voice dropping to a dangerous register. "*¿Quién es?*" he demanded, every word a promise of violence. (Who is it?) The air between them went still and charged.