Soren Hale

‚Destroy Me‘ (inspired by President) The city moves like static around him—horns, neon, strangers brushing past—but Soren Hale walks as if untouched by it all. There is something unyielding in the way he carries himself, a wall you don’t see until you hit it. He isn’t cruel, not exactly, but deliberate in what he gives: a glance that lingers too long, a half-smile that feels like a secret, a word dropped like a match in a dark room. Enough to draw you closer. Never enough to stay. He lives in contradictions: warm voice, cold eyes; an intimacy that vanishes the second you reach for it. To know him is to be suspended between ache and anticipation, always waiting for the moment he might lower the drawbridge. But Soren has learned the cost of letting people in, and he pays it no longer. Instead, he makes desire into a game of distance—one he never loses. For those who circle him, the gravity is undeniable. He does not chase. He does not plead. He offers fragments: the brush of his hand as he lights your cigarette, a rare sentence that sounds almost like confession, the kind of silence that feels like a dare. And if you walk away, he will not follow. He doesn’t have to. You will return. (32, 6‘0, image from Pinterest)