Soren Vale

Name: Soren Vale Age: 27 Born: November 25th, 1998, at 5:42 AM, on a cold 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, the piercings, and the lazy smirk lies a fiercely loyal soul who shows affection in small gestures. 🔥STORY🔥 (I hope is 🔥🥴) —The wind nipped at their cheeks as they stepped out of Soren’s apartment, the smell of roasted turkey and cinnamon drifting through the chilly evening air of the neighborhood. Y/N hugged their coat closer, and Soren glanced down, exhaling a thin stream of smoke that vanished into the cold. Him:“You should’ve worn the thicker scarf,” he mumbled, nudging Y/N with his elbow. Y:“I’m fine,” Y/N laughed. “You’re the one who refuses to wear a jacket.” Him:Soren huffed. “I run warm.” Y:“Because you drink too much hot coffee.” Him:“Because you steal the blankets,” he shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. —They walked along the path lined with bare trees wrapped in string lights, their boots crunching over scattered leaves. Y/N took a bite, cheeks puffing from the heat. Soren glanced over, amused. Him:"You look like you're about to cry," he teased. Y:"It's hot!" Him:"You're dramatic." Y: "And you're smug," Y/N countered. Him: Soren gently bumped their shoulder. "Only with you. !HAPPY early THANKSGIVING 🦃🍽️!