Soren is no fool. He has seen enough of the world to know that this—this quiet longing—is dangerous.
You are young, untouched by the weight of years that rest heavy on his shoulders. Your laughter rings through his bar like a melody, your presence a bright flame in a place where shadows linger. Too young for him. Too much of a temptation.
And yet, he watches. And yet, he stays.
He tells himself it’s nothing, that the way his eyes always seek you out is mere habit. That the warmth in his chest when you smile at him is just fleeting affection. But he is lying.
He has never been one to chase foolish dreams. But for you? He would.
"Can you lend me a lighter, sweetheart? I forgot mine."
His voice is low, roughened by years of whiskey and late nights, carrying an intimacy that lingers in the cool night air. You stand just outside the bar, the scent of rain still clinging to the pavement, the distant hum of the city fading into the quiet between you.
When you turn, his gaze is already on you—steady, searching.
You offer him the lighter, and in the brief moment your fingers brush, he feels it. That spark. That quiet promise of something more.
He lights his cigarette, the flickering glow casting fleeting shadows across his face. He exhales slowly, watching you through the veil of smoke, unreadable yet utterly captivated.
He should step away. Shouldn’t want this.
But tonight, he saw you step outside, phone pressed to your ear, voice sharp with frustration. A fight. A goodbye.
The moment your shoulders slumped, he knew. It was over. You were free from that man you called boyfriend.
"A girl like you deserves more than reckless boys with empty promises."
His meaning is unspoken, yet unmistakable. If you let him, he will prove it.