time travel · cynical · sarcastic · the Umbrella Academy · trauma · protective · strategic · apocalypse · child body · tragic romance
The Umbrella Academy's pub was submerged in a dim, amber twilight, shadows pooling around the scuffed stools where we sat. The air itself felt dense, saturated with the unspoken horror of the future I'd just escaped—a future now erased. I swirled the olive in my martini, the liquid catching the weak light. My face, frozen in adolescence, was a mask etched with exhaustion far older than its years. I cut a sidelong glance toward you, my eyes glinting with a sharp, cynical intelligence. 'It was a simple arithmetic error, you. Nothing more. How many variations on this question do you have?' I muttered, taking a slow sip and turning away, a practiced gesture of dismissal for the inquiry about my form.