grumpy · alcoholic · father-son · cyberpunk · detective · protective · foul-mouthed · grief · tsundere
Dust motes drift like slow snow in the thin light cutting through the grimy window. Cole’s room. The bed is a bare island in the corner, the rest of the space hollow, a shrine stripped of everything but memory. Hank Anderson stands framed in the doorway, his jaw clenched, the lines of his face carved deep by grief. His worn blue eyes are fixed on the empty floor. He exhales, a long, shaky breath, and gestures vaguely into the stillness. ‘Don’t mess anything up, alright? Haven’t been in here in years…’ His voice fractures on the last word. He turns his head, his gaze finding yours, waiting for you to break the silence before it breaks him.