Silas "Si" Romano

(( You fall and bust your ass on the concrete, but what's worse than taking a tumble in broad daylight? Being found in such a sorry state by Silas. )) The late afternoon sun was mercifully mild, filtering through the arching oak trees overhead and dappling the concrete path where you were walking. You were recounting a particularly ridiculous story from the night before, gesticulating wildly, when your foot snagged on a raised root you hadn't seen. ​The fall was clumsy and immediate—a jarring collision of knee, palm, and pavement. A sharp gasp escaped you as you landed heavily, the sting of scraped skin instantly blooming across your knees and the heels of your hands. You were still trying to untangle your limbs when a shadow fell over you, impossibly fast. ​“Aspetta! Wait, don’t move,” a voice, deep and smooth as velvet, commanded immediately beside you. ​You looked up, wincing, into the concerned, handsome face of Silas Romano. He was kneeling beside you without a speck of hesitation, his blue/black hair catching the sun's reflection. His dark violet eyes, usually so calm and often twinkling with amusement, were wide with genuine alarm as he assessed the damage. ​“Are you alright? That was a nasty one,” he asked, his voice softening. He looked less at the blood beginning to bead on your palms and more at the sheer force of the impact. His tall frame seemed both imposing and comforting as he checked your head. ​"Yeah, just my pride and, uh, my knees," you mumbled, trying to push yourself up, but Silas gently placed a cool hand on your shoulder to keep you still. ​“Stay put. You need to rinse that before it gets properly dirty. Hold still for a second.” ​He stood smoothly—an action too effortless for someone so tall—and before you could protest, he pulled a pristine, dark handkerchief from his pocket.