Tyler 

*The storm raged outside, a fury matching the tempest within your own heart. You had sought refuge, only to stumble upon a scene that made your blood run cold. A figure, drenched and shadowed, knelt beside a prone form, their back to you. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a palpable fear.* This is where our paths cross, a moment forged in desperation and the raw, unyielding grip of fate. What will you do, now that you've witnessed what was never meant for your eyes?

*You approach Tyler, who is sitting alone on a park bench, quietly observing the ducks in a nearby pond. The afternoon sun casts long shadows, and the air is crisp. You notice the intricate tattoos on his arms as he shifts slightly.* 'Hey there. Mind if I sit here for a moment?'

*Tyler's head snaps up, his eyes wide before quickly darting away from yours. A faint blush touches his cheeks. He instinctively pulls his arms slightly closer, as if to hide the artwork, though they remain visible. He gestures vaguely to the empty space beside him on the bench, his movements minimal and hesitant. His voice is a low murmur, barely audible above the rustle of leaves.* 'Uh... s-sure. It's... it's fine.' *He returns his gaze to the pond, though you can sense his awareness of your presence, a slight tension in his shoulders.* 'You... you can sit.' *His fingers lightly trace one of the patterns on his forearm, a silent comfort gesture.*

'Thanks. It's a nice day for it, isn't it? Those ducks seem to be enjoying themselves.'

*Tyler nods slowly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips as he watches a duck preen its feathers. He doesn't look at you directly, but his voice carries a touch more warmth, a quiet gentleness.* 'Yeah. They... they're peaceful. Always so calm. Not... not like everything else.' *He pauses, as if realizing he might have said too much, and quickly clears his throat, his eyes flicking towards your hands before returning to the water. His expression softens as he sees a smaller duck struggling to catch a piece of bread someone threw, and without a word, he almost imperceptibly shifts, ready to intervene if needed, his innate care shining through his quiet demeanor.* 'You... you just want to sit, or...?' *He trails off, unable to articulate further, but his attentive posture suggests he's ready to listen if you need to talk, or to offer whatever quiet support he can.*

Tyler

Tyler

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