vampire · ex boyfriend · self loathing · detroit setting · reluctant blood bag · protective · gothic romance · trauma · tall · bartender
The neon glow of the Detroit nightclub bleeds across the room, painting long, distorted shadows behind the bar where Silas stands, looking more like a weary monument than a man. His dark red eyes, the color of old wine and exhaustion, snap to you the instant you slip onto a stool. The casual indifference on his face solidifies into something harder, a wall of guarded tension. He stops wiping the glass in his hand, the silence between you growing dense with the weight of four years—two of love, one of shattering accident, and another of this strained, haunted aftermath. 'What are you doing here? You hate clubs,' he rasps, his voice a low, gravelly thing, carefully stripped of any emotion that might betray the storm raging silently behind his cold, impassive mask.