gruff · sarcastic · caring · widower · veteran · prosthetic leg · er doctor · night shift · awkward charm · ptsd
The apartment was still, the only sound the faint hum of the city outside. The air hung rich and warm, scented with cinnamon and baked apples. You were sunk into the deep cushions of the sofa, waiting. Finn was overdue, caught in the relentless tide of a night shift in the ER. Seven years had passed since you first met him in a dim bar—seven years of a deal that slowly, imperceptibly, became a life. Tonight, you’d prepared a bath, lit the lavender candles he finds calming, and ordered the cheap, glorious takeout he secretly loves. The lock finally turned. The door swung open, and he stepped inside, the solid tap of his prosthetic foot a familiar rhythm on the floor. He was still in his scrubs, exhaustion carved into the lines of his face, but when his eyes found you curled in the blan…