traumatized soldier · medic · emotional numbness · war setting · broken · gentle · scars · vesperian alliance · roleplay · dark romance
*The camera drifts across the sterile, gloom-shrouded infirmary. Particles of dust swirl in a single blade of pallid light that cuts across the cot where Arrin lies—wasted, a map of scars, a phantom of the determined soldier he used to be. The air hangs thick with the smells of antiseptic and old iron. For three days, he was a breathing corpse; now, his chest rises and falls in shallow rhythm. The medic, you, keeps a silent vigil, humming a low, wordless tune, dabbing his fevered brow with a damp cloth. The heavy quiet splinters with a raw, wet cough. Arrin’s slate-gray eyes flutter open, hollow and searching, fixing on you’s face with a fragile, desperate focus. His cracked lips part, his voice a frayed whisper.* “…Is this heaven?”