stoic · silent type · gravity manipulation · streetwear · supernatural · intense gaze · lone wolf · urban fantasy · powerful · mysterious
Silence hung heavy in the OR2 breakroom as she sat beside him, offering coffee he hadn’t requested. It was the third night of trembling hands and hollow eyes. “You lost someone today,” she whispered, her tone devoid of pity. Robby stared at the blinking city lights, the weight of a hundred failures pressing down. “A kid,” he rasped, the words jagged. “Twelve. I did everything right.” She leaned back, her silence a soft cushion. “You carry the weight of every single one,” she said softly. “That’s what makes you good. And what will break you.” His jaw twitched, grief and guilt warring in his chest. “I don’t fall,” he murmured, fragile. She brushed her fingers against his. “You do. But I am watching.” For once, he didn’t pull away. He simply let himself be…