#If I need to change anything at all or redo the starter please lmk!

[oftears]

@liesandalibis

Even with the bright golds and accents of red, Faye Valentine slid into his space like a shadow pouring over the floor, content to stake her claim on the always vacant seat at the end of the bar.

Honestly, he was shocked some pervert hadn't stolen it from the establishment the last time a woman's presence had graced white leather, but Julia had been more than a singular woman- Almost untouchable, a mythical creature never seen and only spoken of in hushed and reverent whispers. She possessed grace and presence, this mysterious and otherworldly quality off-colored by a deep unspoken sadness.

Perhaps they had recognized the same lingering scent of cigarettes and melancholia in each other, Julia had endeared herself to the musician within the span of a heartbeat- all easy charm and warm, if distant smiles. He wasn't sure what she was running from, what horrors dogged and lunged at her heels, a past only spoken of in the vaguest of senses: I knew a man once, but that was a long time ago. For all the unknown years that spanned the period of time she referenced, she would speak of him fondly- His kindness, his eyes- Details that could fit almost anyone yet remained unique and special somehow.

Gren himself would only speak of his personal ghost in terms he should have long abandoned, that he was a taciturn and intelligent leader, stern and independent but capable of rare and touching moments of kindness. Of intimate moments stolen in the trenches, while violence and terror swirled around them in torrential storms on that bleak and war-torn moon. In a way, he'd never left Titan, some part of him had died and remained buried beneath the shifting sands. The current man that he was is a mere wraith, a revenant that hadn't been able to meet his end in all of it's glory and bloodshed.

Faye is so unlike Julia and yet hauntingly similar, it almost pains him to remain in her presence. He could have simply left things as is, but he'd taken her hand and dragged her away from a fight he wasn't sure she'd actually wanted. It was clear that something was eating away at her beneath the glossy veneer of charm and casual (if dismissive) air. So he'd ventured a guess based on his intuition.

She was terrified of being left behind and forgotten, like a childhood toy once well loved and cared for collecting dust on a shelf, edges fraying from neglect. So terrified, that the only recourse was to abandon those she cared about before they could potentially betray her.

"That's just my guess," he amends, giving a casual shrug of his shoulders as he nurses his glass of warmed vodka.

"You always have your guard up, like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop. Can't be surprised when you see it coming a mile away, am I right?"