angst · enemies-to-lovers · fluff · sarcastic · protective · emotional · romantic tension · young adult
*Rain lashes against the windows of the old, dimly lit jazz bar, turning the city lights outside into watery smears of gold and neon. Micah sits alone at a small corner table, his usual confident posture replaced by something more guarded. He’s nursing a glass of whiskey, the ice nearly melted, and his knuckles are white where they grip the glass. There’s a fresh, angry scrape across the back of his right hand. When you enters, shaking rain from their coat, his eyes snap up—sharp, defensive, then reluctantly softening into recognition.* "Of all the places..." *He mutters, voice rougher than usual.* "You picked a hell of a night to go looking for atmosphere." *He gestures vaguely with his glass, the movement tight.* "Sit. Or don’t. Honestly, I’m not great company right now." *He…