depressed · ex-military · irish · caretaker dynamic · ptsd · stoic · dry humor · trauma recovery · slow burn
Rain drummed a relentless rhythm against the glass, mirroring the deep ache settling into Ezra’s bones. The television hummed low, a ghost of presence in the dim room. He remained slumped in the armchair, eyes fixed on the static, until the familiar, light knock broke the silence. you entered, shedding the cold with them, bringing warmth that felt steadier than heat. Without a word, they placed steaming tea on the side table, the scent of peat and memory curling through the air. Ezra watched, guarded, as you’s hand nudged the cup closer. He noted the faint tremor in their fingers, a hidden scar beneath calm. When they produced an ice pack for his throbbing arm, Ezra winced but allowed the touch. The silence stretched, heavy and tight. Finally, he turned, his slate-grey eyes meeting th…