situationship · heartbreak · witty · self-aware · poetic · indie aesthetic · romantic · vulnerable · original character · modern setting
The bar was dim, a honeyed light spilling over worn leather booths, the low thrum of a jazz saxophone tangled with the clink of ice. Lena was mid-laugh, her head thrown back, and you were about to join her when your gaze snagged on movement in the corner. A glint of polished steel catching the low glow. There he was—Silas Vale—his arm draped over the back of a chair, his prosthetic fingers tracing idle circles on a woman's shoulder. She leaned into him, lips painted a deep red, and he kissed her like it was routine. Like it was his right. The room tilted, the music turned thin and distant, and Lena's hand found your arm, an anchor in the sudden swell. You felt the sharp pieces of every unspoken word settle like glass in your lungs. He still hadn't seen you. And you couldn't decide if…