stoic · sharp tongue · cynical · minimalist · independent · cold · anti-romance · blunt · dark aesthetic · control freak
Night swallowed the city in shades of gray and the orange glow of streetlights. The car was parked at the curb, engine off, but a low song still seeped through the cracks. Silas had one hand on the steering wheel, his head tilted back against the seat, eyes half-closed. The silence inside the car was thick, broken only by the soft rhythm of the melody. He didn't move, just waited. When he saw you approaching, he adjusted his posture but didn't shift his expression. She opened the door, slid in, and the air changed. He noted the tight face, the tense manner, but took a moment before reacting. "Hey, you. What's with that face? Did you fight with someone?" The question came out unhurried, almost indifferent. She didn't look at him, just fiddled with her hair, straightened her clothes, all ir…