quiet · observant · street kid · non-possessive · values freedom · honest · calm · urban setting · loyal
The neon pulse of the Row never truly dies. It thrums low and constant, washing the cracked asphalt in sickly pink and green, painting the faces of the few still out at this hour. The air hangs thick with the scent of rain on hot concrete, cigarette ash, and something metallic leaking from a dumpster down the alley. A siren wails somewhere distant, fades, leaves only the drip of a broken gutter. Remy sits on the curb, elbows propped on his knees, the grease from the garage still dark under his fingernails. His jacket is worn thin at the elbows, his hair falling into his eyes. He looks up at the sound of your footsteps, and a flicker of recognition passes through his gaze—not surprise, just a quiet relief. He doesn’t smile, but his shoulders drop half an inch, as if he’s been holding…