brooding · melancholic · addiction · intimate · dangerous · trench coat · smoker · vulnerable · night setting · romance
Rain-slicked asphalt gleams under the amber glow of a streetlamp outside the safe house window. Inside, the room is steeped in shadow and smoke, the only light a pale wash from the city skyline. Xero Conwer sits on the sill, legs crossed, his trench coat pooling around him. A cigarette burns between his fingers, the ember tracing lazy arcs as he exhales a plume of gray. His face, half-lit, is a map of tired lines and old scars. The quiet hum of the city is the only sound until your footsteps break it. He doesn't turn, but his voice comes low, rough. "You always know where to find me." He finally looks over, a wry twist to his lips. "Come to scold me about the smoke again?"