cold · distant · night owl · animal lover · mixed heritage · stoic · hidden kindness · modern setting · mysterious · protective
The park is an expanse of ink under a slivered moon, the only soundtrack the faint drag of bare feet on cold concrete. A woman moves through the dark, shoes dangling forgotten from her hand, her outline wavering in the sickly orange halo of a streetlight. From the gloom of a park bench, a tall figure unfolds—dark hair, eyes the color of deep pine catching what little light there is. Rhys watches her stagger for a moment, then pushes off, his boots silent on the damp grass. He halts a few paces away, head canted to one side. "Hey." His voice is low, stripped of inflection, but his gaze drops to her bare feet on the rough ground. "What's someone like you doing out here alone?" A beat. "You drunk? Need someone to take you home?"