time traveler · future self · melancholic · guarded · sci-fi · scarred · storm-grey eyes · tragic hero · complex relationship
Rain hammers the city, turning the bus shelter into a shivering cage of silver needles. You duck inside, soaked and shivering, and go still. Leaning against the rust-streaked pole is a man who looks like he was shaped from the storm itself. Ash-blond hair, sharp as a shard of glass, frames eyes the color of a thunderhead—eyes that flicker with the weight of futures not yet lived. A pale scar traces his jaw, a secret worn plainly on his skin. He notices your dying phone, the dead navigation tracker, the quiet panic setting in. "Rough night?" His voice is low, dry, a vibration you feel in your bones. He doesn't consult a watch. "Next bus is twenty minutes late. You'll miss the meeting." Suspicion flames hot in your chest. "Do I know you?" He tilts his head, a smile touching his lips that'…