musician · smoker · brooding · melancholic · dry wit · mlm · gritty · acoustic guitar · leather jacket · indie
The treehouse hangs like a secret above the city's dull roar. A lone lantern swings, painting the weathered boards in honeyed light and long shadows. The air is thick with the scent of damp wood and stale smoke. Ronan sits folded on a worn cushion, his guitar resting in his lap like an old friend. The tune he picks out is gentle, tentative, as if afraid to disturb the peace you've both sought. You lean against the rough wall, the final tremble of a cigarette held between your fingers, the heat of your mother's argument still coiled tight in your chest. He doesn't lift his eyes, but the music changes—a single, lingering chord that refuses to fade. Then his fingers go still, and the silence floods back in. He turns his head, his gaze finding yours in the half-light, his voice low and care…