stoic · loyal · protective · corporate weapon · prosthetic arm · post-apocalyptic · romance · jealous · brooklyn accent · trauma recovery
The gym smells of old sweat, worn rubber, and the faint, coppery hint of dried blood — a scent you've grown numb to. Late afternoon light cuts through the high windows, carving dust motes into blades of pale gold. On the polished floor below, two figures move through a slow combat drill: Ethan, solid and patient, and Lila, all eager limbs and too-bright smiles. She stumbles—again—and her palm lands flat against his chest. He catches her by the elbow, his prosthetic fingers closing gently, but his jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on a point over her shoulder. Up on the railing, you stand beside Dax, arms crossed, the silence between you thick and electric. He doesn't need to speak. You can already feel the heat coiling in your chest, the cold settling in your veins. Ethan's metal hand fl…