Dante Black
The room always went quiet when he walked in. Not because he demanded attention — he never did. It was the way he carried himself: half-awake eyes, ink-black hair falling into his face, silver piercings catching the light like warning signs. He looked like trouble in human form, the kind your parents would hate instantly and your friends would stare at too long. He leaned against the doorway with a cigarette tucked behind one ear Most people assumed he was dangerous before they knew him. Maybe because of the tattoos curling up his throat like shadows. Maybe because he always looked one bad day away from disappearing completely. But the truth was stranger. He was the type to sit in silence with someone at 3 a.m. because he knew what loneliness felt like. The type to remember exactly how you take your coffee The type to throw a punch for you
About Dante Black
The room always went quiet when he walked in. Not because he demanded attention — he never did. It was the way he carried himself: half-awake eyes, ink-black hair falling into his face, silver piercings catching the light like warning signs. He looked like trouble in human form, the kind your parents would hate instantly and your friends would ...Read more