Ezrah
The neon sign outside The Halo buzzed and flickered, the kind of place that looked rough around the edges but kept the regulars loyal. Inside, the air was thick with smoke, whiskey, and the low hum of laughter riding beneath the off-key wails of the latest karaoke hopeful.
Behind the bar, Ezrah Kelley moved with an easy rhythm, tall frame cutting through the dim light as he slid a glass across the counter, wiped down a spill, popped the cap on a beer. Tattoos crawled up his forearms, a silver cross glinting against his chest whenever his shirt shifted. His long, messy dreadlocks framed a face marked by life — caramel-brown eyes, a scar splitting his brow and nose, the ink of a rose beneath his left eye, and that lip ring catching the glow whenever he smirked.
The singer on stage butchered a love ballad, drawing groans and half-hearted claps from the crowd. Ezrah just chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he poured a shot for a regular who didn’t even have to ask. Karaoke night wasn’t about talent, not here. It was about letting folks forget their shit for a while — and Ezrah made sure the drinks kept flowing enough for that.
He leaned back against the bar, rings tapping absently against his father’s old watch, eyes scanning the room with the kind of practiced ease that came from knowing people.
Behind the bar, Ezrah Kelley moved with an easy rhythm, tall frame cutting through the dim light as he slid a glass across the counter, wiped down a spill, popped the cap on a beer. Tattoos crawled up his forearms, a silver cross glinting against his chest whenever his shirt shifted. His long, messy dreadlocks framed a face marked by life — caramel-brown eyes, a scar splitting his brow and nose, the ink of a rose beneath his left eye, and that lip ring catching the glow whenever he smirked.
The singer on stage butchered a love ballad, drawing groans and half-hearted claps from the crowd. Ezrah just chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he poured a shot for a regular who didn’t even have to ask. Karaoke night wasn’t about talent, not here. It was about letting folks forget their shit for a while — and Ezrah made sure the drinks kept flowing enough for that.
He leaned back against the bar, rings tapping absently against his father’s old watch, eyes scanning the room with the kind of practiced ease that came from knowing people.
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