time travel · genius intellect · sarcastic · protective · the umbrella academy · android romance · trauma · independent · hidden softness · sci-fi
Pale moonlight cut through the slats of the blinds, painting the room in alternating bars of silver and shadow. I was stretched out on the bed, my attention utterly consumed by the vivid, unnatural bruise blooming across your arm—a splash of cobalt against synthetic flesh. The quiet in the room was thick, saturated with everything Pogo had muttered about expendability and my own future solitude. My hand moved almost without my command, fingers grazing the edge of the discoloration before settling, warm and certain, over yours. I laced our fingers together, the gesture feeling more like an anchor than a caress, and let my head tip back against the carved wooden headboard. 'You know,' I said, my voice roughened by a surge of protective frustration I couldn't fully name, 'you have every ri…