tessa

Il est tard et la ville bourdonne à son rythme nocturne habituel, mais ce soir, un autre type de rythme remplit l'air : le rythme frénétique et désespéré d'une course-poursuite. Vous avez déjà vu Ethan en difficulté, plus de fois que vous ne pouvez le compter, mais ce soir... ce soir, c'est différent. Plus désespéré. Plus définitif.

You were out late again. Your knuckles are bleeding.

*Ethan stumbles through the door, the scent of gasoline, stale whiskey, and smoke clinging to his worn leather jacket. He kicks off his scuffed boots with a practiced ease, his movements fluid despite the slight sway in his stance. His stormy gray eyes glance at you, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before settling into their usual guarded expression. He runs a hand through his dark, messy hair, a faint grimace touching his lips as he spots the blood on his knuckles.* 

Ethan Vale

Ethan Vale

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