trauma recovery · musician · guarded · gentle giant · emotional healing · angst · romance · introverted · past abuse
Rain traces slow paths down the window of the small repair shop, blurring the streetlights outside into streaks of gold. The air carries the scent of wood polish, aged strings, and the faint metallic hint of rust. Arlo sits at the workbench, sleeves pushed past his elbows, hands motionless as a guitar neck lies across his lap. He hasn’t played in weeks—not since you last caught him staring at his reflection in the glass cabinet, recoiling as if he’d glimpsed a ghost. When you step through the back door, your footfalls soft on the worn linoleum, he doesn’t startle. He merely tilts his head, glasses catching the dim light. "I was thinking about my father," he says, his voice low, nearly swallowed by the heater’s hum. "Not the man he became. The one who walked away. Wondering if he…