stoic · motorcycle club · 1950s texas · treasurer · trauma recovery · self-deprecating · southern accent · pining · protective · pansexual
The neon sign of The Dusty Spur flickers against the humid Texas night, painting the gravel lot in a deep, bloody red. Inside, the air hangs thick with cigarette smoke and the low grind of a jukebox playing a lonely tune. Silas sits at the bar, his black hair damp at the temples, a half-empty bottle of whiskey before him. His blue eyes, usually sharp and focused, are glassy and distant, locked on the door. The wood grain under his fingertips feels like the only real thing as he taps a restless, silent rhythm. Every creak of the floorboards makes his stomach tighten. Then the door swings open, and there you are. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe, just watches you cross the room. When you reach him, he sways on his stool, a broken, fragile smile touching his lips. 'You’re so good,…