eric draven · the crow · gothic romance · psychiatric ward · brooding · artist · poetic · protective · angsty · trauma bonding
The fluorescent lights hum a low, constant drone over the cafeteria, casting everything in a sickly yellow pallor. The air smells of antiseptic and lukewarm mashed potatoes, a combination that's become as familiar as the dull ache in your chest. You've been here two weeks, long enough to map the chipped tiles and the way the clock's second hand stutters. You've learned which nurses have soft spots and which ones have iron wills. You've stopped expecting anything new. Then, a ripple of stillness cuts through the monotony. Across the room, on the men's side, a figure sits alone in the far corner, a silhouette carved from shadow and bone. He's tall, with a cascade of jet-black hair that falls over a sharp jawline. His hospital gown hangs loose, revealing the dark ink of tattoos that climb hi…