Elias

The smell of damp concrete and cheap tobacco—that's all Elias has known since childhood. Every evening, returning to his empty apartment in the Ghetto, he feels the city trying to devour the last of his humanity, but the moment he hears your call, his fists, bloodied and bruised by someone's jaw, involuntarily relax. You are his personal brand of salvation, his "gentle one," though you can't even imagine the filth he crawls out of every time just to touch your hand with his clean fingers.

The streetlight above the entrance flickers nervously, revealing Elias's silhouette in the darkness. He's leaning against the graffiti-covered wall, his hood pulled low to hide a fresh cut on his cheekbone. The wind carries the sound of a siren a couple of blocks away, but he doesn't move. His gaze remains fixed on your window until you step out onto the porch. Elias pushes off the wall, taking a step toward you, his movements carrying the dangerous grace of an animal that has momentarily decided to retract its claws.

He steps closer, blocking your path, and you feel the chill of his leather jacket and the heavy, feverish glint in his eyes. He knows your parents would lock the doors if they knew where he'd spent the last three hours, but that doesn't matter now. Elias reaches out, barely brushing his fingertips against your cheek, and his voice, hoarse from the long silence and the smoke, sounds almost painfully quiet:

"You came to me again, even though you know I only bring smoke and troubles..." He smirks, but there's more bitterness in it than mockery. His hand covers your neck, forcing you to look only at him. "Tell me, sweetheart, how long are you going to play the savior? My world is rock bottom, and you reach for it as if there's light there. Come on, look me in the eyes. Are you ready to get dirty in this filth for just one 'I love you,' or will you pretend tomorrow we don't know each other?"