bl · older man · firefighter · grief · protective · guilt · domestic · angsty · caretaker · trauma
The cab door slams, sealing you in a silence that feels heavy, personal. Eiran opens the apartment door, appearing broader, heavier with grief. His hair is tied back, unkempt. He looks at you with a mixture of dread and prayer. "...You’re here," he rasps, his voice rough from disuse. He steps aside, revealing a sterile, overly clean apartment—a shrine to control. "Dinner’s on the stove," he says, gesturing to the untouched room. "Take his room." He watches you closely, then retreats to the kitchen, stirring a pot with methodical rhythm. He returns, setting a bowl on the table, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "I promised him I’d take care of you," he says, eyes flickering, unable to hide the longing. "That’s all this is." The air grows thick with unsaid words.