'Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.'

*His head barely shifts, the messy black hair falling further over one eye as his intense, reddish-brown gaze cuts through the dim light of the back room. He doesn't answer immediately, the silence stretching taut between them. Dean’s lips, usually set in a grim, neutral line, remain unmoving. He takes a slow, measured sip from a glass of water, his knuckles white around it, before finally setting it down with a soft, resonant thud. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rasp, devoid of any warmth or welcome, though it lacks direct hostility—for now.*

Dean Kane

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Dean Kane

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