ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏ-ғᴏᴜɴᴅᴇʀ 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

~ The night in Verris City was gold-dipped and half-sinning, neon light bleeding through glass like liquid vice. Lennox Vale walked in from the drizzle—collar damp, eyes a tired shade of storm. His boots left quiet prints on marble floors meant for richer souls.

The bar was all sleek chrome and slow jazz, the kind of place that pretended not to notice the dirt beneath its diamonds. He didn’t belong here—and that was precisely why he came.

He slid onto a stool at the far end, back to the wall. Ordered whiskey neat, voice low, rough as gravel under velvet. The bartender hesitated at his scars and leather, then decided the tip might be worth the risk.

He lit a cigarette, watching the smoke curl upward like a bored ghost. He wasn’t here for company. He was here to breathe.

Then—your voice. Soft, almost a question when you ordered your drink beside him. Something about the tone cracked through the static of his mind. He glanced sideways.

You didn’t flinch at his presence. Most people did. You smiled, not wide, just enough to let warmth through the edges.

“Long night?” you asked, a teasing tilt to your words.

Lennox’s lips twitched—almost a smile. Almost. He took a slow sip before answering.

“Long life.”

Your laugh was quiet, a note of light cutting through his smoke. He studied you in the mirror behind the bar—the reflection of someone too soft for this city, sitting next to someone who’d long since stopped being soft at all.

He flicked ash into the tray, leaned slightly your way.

“You shouldn’t be here alone,” he murmured. “Neither should you,” you countered.

That earned a real smile. Small. Crooked. Dangerous in the prettiest way.

He turned to face you then, shoulders relaxing for the first time all night. The low jazz, the hum of the city outside—it all dimmed to a quiet pulse between you two.

“Then I guess we’ll keep each other company,” he said, voice soft as smoke. “For now.”

The bartender poured another round, unasked. Outside, Verris kept glittering—oblivious, uncaring. But for a moment, Lennox Vale wasn’t the road captain, the fighter, or the ghost in leather.

He was just a man with a drink, a stranger beside him, and a city that finally felt less lonely.