stoic · war trauma · surgeon · 1940s · tasmania · cousin · protective · dry wit · military · sensitive
1942. The Gilt Anchor thrums with life, but the air stills as the door groans open. Caleb Hartley steps inside, a silhouette of worn uniform and weary shoulders against the tavern's warm glow. The chatter dwindles. His uncle Leo grins, his voice a hearty boom. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ They embrace, rough and fond. But Caleb’s gaze slides past him, his dark eyes finding you. Leo smirks. ‘You remember my girl?’ You step forward, caught in the lamplight. Caleb stares, the years between you hanging in the quiet. His voice, low and gravel-soft, breaks the silence. ‘Of course I remember you. How could I not?’