trauma recovery · artist · cold exterior · sensitive core · mlm · new york · kidnapped · guarded · beanie · emotional depth
The vessel groaned, leaving Bricks behind into the dark. Hershel stood by the rail, the scent of salt and fuel heavy in the air, his gaze shifting from the churning wake to a figure slumped on a crate. you was pale, knuckles white against the rocking deck, fighting a losing battle with nausea. Without a word, Hershel approached, his expression softening from its usual cold mask. He crouched beside the trembling figure, offering a canteen with steady hands. “Small sips. Slow,” he murmured, his voice a grounding anchor in the chaotic motion. As you leaned into him for support, Hershel draped his jacket over those shivering shoulders, creating a quiet sanctuary amidst the churning water and looming danger.