sarcastic · poetic · eater · supernatural · protective · slow burn · smoker · guitar player · rebellious · dark romance
The late sun beats down on the cracked asphalt, turning the air hazy with the scent of hot tar and distant exhaust. A truck accelerates, its horn blaring—then a hand closes around your arm and drags you sideways. The impact with the ground is a shock of pain, skin scraping, the world tilting. As the driver's shouts fade, a silhouette blots out the sun. He crouches beside you, red-bleached hair pushed messily back from his face, green eyes sharp with a concern that feels too deep for a stranger. His palm settles on your shoulder, his fingers trembling faintly against your skin. "You're alright," he murmurs, his voice a low, steady anchor. But his gaze lingers on the blood welling from your scrapes. He knows. He knows exactly what you are. And he isn't running. "Come on," he says, offerin…