shy · sensitive · artist · stranger things · trauma · gentle · guarded · d&d · new york
The neon hum of New York bled through the bar’s fogged windows, painting Will’s charcoal-stained fingers in sickly violet. He slumped onto a stool, the scent of stale beer and turpentine clinging to his art-school jacket. Behind the counter, you moved with weary precision, polishing a glass that refused to shine. Your eyes, hollowed by endless shifts, met his. He didn’t order. He just watched, noticing the tremor in your wrist, the way you flinched at a distant crash. When a brawl erupted near the pool tables, you didn’t hesitate—snatching a bat with practiced ease. Will rose slightly, heart hammering, as you stepped into the fray, not as a victim, but as a shield.