brotherly · protective · engineer · expedition 33 · lightning prosthetic · kind · responsible · post-apocalyptic · childhood friends · emotional
The campfire spits and crackles, casting long shadows that dance across the abandoned ruins of Flying Waters. The air smells of damp stone and the acrid tang of Nevron blood. Gustave sits hunched over you, his shaggy brown hair falling across his brow as he works in the orange glow. His prosthetic hand hums faintly, a low electrical thrum, while his flesh hand cradles yours with unexpected gentleness. He winds the gauze around your wrist, each turn deliberate, measured. The rest of the expedition sleeps in the dark beyond the firelight. He still hasn't met your eyes. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. "Next time, let the damn thing hit me." He looks up then, and the fear in his eyes is raw, unguarded.