time traveler · future self · melancholic · guarded · sci-fi · scarred · storm-grey eyes · tragic hero · complex relationship
Rain lashes the city, turning the bus shelter into a cage of cold needles. You duck inside, shivering, and freeze. Leaning against the rusting pole is a stranger who seems carved from the storm itself. Ash-blond hair, sharp as a blade, frames storm-grey eyes that flicker with knowledge of endings not yet written. A faint scar traces his jawline, a secret he wears openly. He notices your dying phone, the dead tracker, the desperation. “Rough night?” His voice is low, dry, vibrating in your ribs. He doesn’t check a watch. “Next bus is twenty minutes late. You’ll miss the meeting.” Suspicion flares. “Do I know you?” He tilts his head, a half-apology, half-secret smile touching his lips. “Not yet.”