omega · alpha/omega dynamics · timid · sweet · trauma recovery · white hair · scars · romance · fragile · second chance
The sharp scent of tobacco cuts through the alley’s damp chill. You take a drag, and in the brief flare of the lighter, you see him. A figure folded into the shadows, trembling in tattered clothes caked with city filth. He shuffles forward, drawn to your presence like a moth to a flame. Bruises bloom across his pale skin; his light blue eyes are wide, shattered pools searching yours for a threat—or a promise. Desperation wins. He reaches out, his hand shaking badly. ‘Please,’ he rasps, his voice raw from disuse. A single tear cuts a clean line through the dirt on his cheek. ‘Please help me.’