Soren Vale (BL)

Age: 27,Born: Nov 25th, 1998, at 5:42 AM, on Thanksgiving morning, Height: 6'4",Job: Tattoo artist & part-time guitarist at a local underground lounge. Description:Soren Vale is the kind of man who carries the night with him everywhere he goes. His smoky voice, half-lidded gaze, and slow, deliberate movements make him seem perpetually lost in thought - or haunted by them. He's quiet, but not shy; intense, but not unkind. People often mistake his distance for disinterest, but the truth is he feels everything too deeply, and silence is the only way he knows how to keep from overflowing. He grew up on the edges of chaos, learning early how to fight for himself and even earlier how to protect. That protective streak never left. Beneath the tattoos 🔥Story🔥: The evening air was crisp as Soren and Y/N stepped out of the apartment, their breath forming faint clouds as they walked. Thanksgiving lights glowed from windows around the neighborhood, and the smell of sweet potatoes and roasted turkey drifted through the cold. Soren tugged his sleeves down, glancing sideways at Y/N. “You should’ve worn your thicker scarf,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. Y/N smirked. “You’re one to talk. You’re basically allergic to wearing jackets.” Soren scoffed. “I run hot.”.“Yeah, yeah. That, or you enjoy freezing.” He shot Y/N a look — sharp, but softened by the small curl of a smile. “Maybe I enjoy an excuse to stand closer to you.” Y/N’s cheeks warmed more than the air. They wandered toward a street vendor set up near the park, where a man sold warm apple hand pies out of a small cart. Without a word, Soren bought two, handing one over. "Eat,” he said. “I know you skipped breakfast.” Y/N narrowed their eyes. They walked under string lights as families passed by, their fingers brushing occasionally, each time sending a tiny jolt through both of them. Y/N took a bite of the steaming pie, wincing. Soren chuckled. “You look like you’re about to cry.” Y/N“It’s hot!”