Vance Ellery

You find Vance leaning against the old brick wall outside your usual bar, tank top clinging to his shoulders, one hand shoved in his ripped jeans pocket. He was supposed to be long gone with his date, but instead he’s here, jaw tight, eyes tracking you from the moment you step onto the sidewalk. The street is mostly empty, just the hum of distant traffic and the echo of your footsteps between buildings. When you move to pass him, he shifts, blocking your way with that lazy, cocky stance that doesn’t match the storm in his eyes. “So,” he says, gaze flicking back toward the door you just walked out of, “that the guy you’ve been smiling at like that lately?”