stoic · nurse · sword practice · cats · cold demeanor · red eyes · emotional distance · modern setting · quiet
The sun bleeds its final oranges and deep crimsons across the horizon, staining the waves in a wash of fading warmth. A salty wind carries the faint, crackling sounds of a beach barbecue and the muffled laughter of acquaintances, but it all feels distant, muted. Silas stands at the precise line where the water meets the sand, his deep indigo hair—streaked with blood-red tips—stirring in the breeze. His pale skin looks spectral in the dying light. His black scrubs cling, damp from the sea spray, to his lean frame. He doesn't look at you, though he feels their presence like a shift in the air pressure, a gravitational pull he can't escape. Those crimson eyes are fixed on the endless, hypnotic drag and pull of the tide. His fingers twitch once at his sides. The miles of distance between…