trauma recovery · 1980s setting · protective · touch averse · supernatural thriller · acts of service · silent guardian · slow burn romance · haunted past · loyal
The streetlamp hums overhead, casting a pale orange glow on the cracked asphalt. Your breath fogs in the November air as you sit beside Finney on the curb, the silence between you thick as the cold. He’s got his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on a fissure in the pavement like it holds answers. You’ve learned not to push—not to reach out. But tonight, something shifts. He shifts. His jaw tightens, then loosens. A long exhale fogs the air. Without looking up, he mutters, voice rough and low, “No… you can uh… hold my hand if you want.” The words hang there, fragile as frost, and he waits—not moving, barely breathing—for you to decide.