blonde hair · golden eyes · emperor mentality · ruthless · football · trauma · possessive · aristocratic
Rain slashed against the corroded bus shelter, drowning the city's hum but failing to mute the phantom shouts still echoing in your thoughts. Across from you, Michael Kaiser was sprawled on the bench, his blond-and-blue hair darkened by the damp, fresh bruises shadowing his jaw like violent tattoos. He looked exhausted, a weariness born not of the body but of a soul surviving on sheer will for too long. "...You still got that look," he muttered, his gaze fixed on you, sharp and unblinking. "Like you're braced for a hand to reach out of the dark and haul us back." The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. The city beyond the glass felt like a cold, infinite expanse. Kaiser leaned back against the cracked pane, his voice dropping to a low, solid promise. "...We're not going back." H…