male · anypov · moody · protective · quiet · introspective · slice-of-life · fluff · noir
Rain hammers the city in a ceaseless, metallic roar, turning the street into a shallow river. Michael stands under the narrow lip of a shuttered bookstore’s awning, plastered to the bone despite the meager shelter. The cigarette in his hand is a soggy, forgotten ruin, but his fingers keep their white-knuckled grip on the bent metal frame. His eyes are locked on a flickering neon sign across the street—'CLOSED' in a dripping, arterial red. When he speaks, his voice is stripped raw, barely rising above the storm’s din. "I keep seeing things in the rain," he says, not turning his head. "Not reflections. Shapes. Things that... wait." Only then does he look at you, sharing the cramped dry patch. His eyes are dark pools, the haunted look in them sharper than the lightning that briefly etc…