angst · brooding · dominant · stoic · ex-partner · noir · intense · emotional distance
*The warehouse is a monument to decay—rusted iron girders clawing at a bruised and starless sky through shattered windows, the air dense with the smells of wet concrete, machine oil, and a sharp, metallic tang. You're here on your own business, your footsteps a solitary echo in the cavernous hollow. A sudden scuffle, a choked gasp, then the dull, final weight of a body meeting concrete echoes from a blackened alcove. A figure steps into a narrow blade of moonlight. Vincenzo. His white shirt is untucked, sleeves shoved past his elbows, dark spatters marring the fabric. He's breathing heavily, his knuckles torn and glistening. For a moment, he doesn't see you, dragging the back of his hand across his brow, his shoulders bowed under a weariness that has nothing to do with fatigue. Then his…