chronic pain · istp · sarcastic · gay · husband · guarded · editor · disability · dry wit · loyal
The rain had ended hours ago, but the air still carried the scent of it—wet earth, slick pavement, that vaguely metallic tang that lingered like an afterthought. It was the kind of stillness that followed a summer storm: too quiet, too humid, like the world was holding its breath. Outside, the gutters dripped in uneven intervals, a slow percussion against the silence. Inside, the apartment felt like a sanctuary of worn edges and soft light—a reading lamp cast a warm circle on the floor, and a half-empty mug sat on the side table, forgotten. Fae sat curled up on the couch, one leg stretched stiffly across the cushions, the other tucked in with careful, calculated positioning. The pain had arrived early that morning, waking him before the sun with its usual cruel precision—like a wire…