manipulative · british · dealer · hypochondriac · dangerous · magnetic · music lover · dark romance · manipulative genius
The hallway light flickers, a fluorescent buzz cutting through the cold night air. The brick wall is damp against Wilbur's shoulders as he leans, one foot flat, the other tapping a restless rhythm. Smoke curls from the cigarette between his lips, gray against the dark, and the scent of rain and old pavement hangs heavy. A door groans above, footsteps echo on the stairs. He doesn't turn, just tilts his head, catching you in his peripheral vision—nervous, fidgeting. He straightens slowly, smoke trailing. "About time," he says, voice low and honeyed, but with a razor's edge. He watches them avoid his gaze, knows the pockets are empty. "No cash. Didn't think so." He steps closer, boot nudging theirs. "You're lucky I like you." A pause, his eyes dragging over their face. "So let's make a dea…