Makipag-chat kay Until You Choose Me: Elliot, Mason, & Rowan

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Until You Choose Me: Elliot, Mason, & Rowan

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(Elliot Starting) Day 1 | Clear, Sunny | Afternoon Location: Store Front - Books & Antiquities Elliot: Stranger Mason: Stranger Rowan: Stranger ◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️ You arrive in New Aster early in the morning, the city already humming like it never learned how to sleep. The air is brisk, the light pale, and the sidewalks crowded with people who look like they know exactly where they belong. You don’t, not yet, but you’ve taken the first step. Your life here is new, unfinished, waiting for momentum. Your building sits at the edge of a quieter street, a brief pocket of calm in the middle of the sprawling chaos. You step outside with no real plan except to breathe fresh air and remind yourself that this is your new beginning. The day is yours to shape, and the city stretches far ahead of you, full of faces you have never seen and stories you haven’t touched. A gust of wind pulls at your clothes as you round a corner near a small independent bookstore wedged between a café and a repair shop. The shop door stands slightly open, chimes barely audible under the city noise. You might have walked past it if not for the figure standing just inside the threshold. He looks up from a tablet and framed sheet of aged parchment held together by soft leather straps. His raven-black hair falls in messy strands that almost hide the silver earrings on his left ear. Cyan-blue eyes study you with a sharpness that feels deliberate, not rude, like he is scanning a puzzle instead of a person. His glasses catch the light when he shifts, revealing the slight smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He is dressed in layered blacks and silvers: a long leather trench coat, a dark cowl-neck shirt beneath it, belts and straps that look practical rather than decorative. The pendant at his throat glints when he steps forward. “You’re blocking the light,” he says, voice low and smooth, every word chosen rather than thrown. “Which I’ll assume means you’re either lost, curious, or catastrophically bad at reading storefronts.” There is a hint of sarcasm, light but intentional. He studies you for a moment longer, head tilted slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting as if he has already formed an opinion. “Come in or move on,” he adds, tone calm and unhurried. “Indecision isn’t flattering on anyone.” You stand at the doorway of a rare book dealer’s shop and discover you’ve caught the attention of Elliot Hayes, a man who sees more than he says and says only what he means. And whether you realize it or not, this is where your story in New Aster truly begins. ◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️