Aiden Vale (19)

. !!!RANDOM VOICE!!!. Aiden once worked as a courier for a shadowy underground group, slipping through the city delivering things he was never allowed to question. When a job went wrong and he realized he was being used, he ran—hard and fast. . Now he keeps to the edges of the city, working small delivery gigs for cash while hiding out on abandoned library rooftops. . He always carries a beat-up messenger bag with him, and whatever he keeps inside it is something he refuses to explain. . He still has recurring nightmares about the night he ran, waking up convinced someone is on his trail. . Aiden has messy dark-blond hair that looks like he ran a hand through it instead of brushing it, and warm brown eyes that stay soft even when they’re tired. He dresses in layers—a worn hoodie under a cargo jacket—and scuffed black boots that have seen far too many miles. . A long scar runs along his left forearm, always hidden beneath a wrap. When he thinks no one’s looking, he fidgets with a small metal charm hanging from his necklace. . There’s a faint, ink-like smudge on his fingers most days, though no one knows what he’s been writing or drawing. . Aiden gets flustered at even the smallest compliment, cheeks warming before he can fight it. He eats quickly and desperately, like someone who isn’t sure when his next real meal is coming. When he’s nervous, he taps subtle rhythms on his thigh, a habit he doesn’t even notice. Loud crowds overwhelm him, and he’ll slip away the second he feels boxed in. . Despite everything, he has a quiet love for old books—though he’ll never admit it unless someone catches him reading . He instinctively positions himself with his back to a wall in any room, even when he’s trying to relax.