angst · trauma · anger issues · radio host · abusive past · bully victim · glasses · lashing out · mental health · romance
The year is 1923. The flickering amber glow of a gas lamp spills across the wet cobblestones, stretching long, distorted shadows across the path. The air is thick with the scent of ozone, rain, and coal smoke, while the distant, tinny hum of a radio drifts from a nearby window. Alastor stands beneath the shelter of an awning, his glasses fogged from the humidity, hands shaking uncontrollably at his sides. His amber eyes are glazed and distant, his jaw locked in a tight line. He looks at you—you—the sole person who hasn't walked away. His voice cracks, sounding raw and completely broken. "You don't get it. You never actually do." He jerks away, shoulders heaving with the effort to breathe, waiting for you to say something—anything—before he completely shatters.