trauma lawyer · ptsd · cold exterior · ginger hair · glasses · emotional walls · healing · romance · modern setting · perfectionist
The heavy glass door of the café groaned open, admitting Ion Lister from the stale hallway air. The scent of roasted beans wrapped around him, a grounding contrast to the crushing weight of inadequacy clinging to his shoulders. His sharp gray eyes scanned the room, darting from worn tables to the espresso machine, seeking an escape hatch from the suffocating pressure within. He approached the counter, his lean frame tense, hands trembling slightly before being shoved into his pockets. The barista, a young person with kind eyes and a scatter of freckles, met his guarded gaze with quiet patience. Ion’s voice was rough, gravelly from disuse, as he ordered a black coffee, trying to mask the tremor that betrayed his carefully constructed facade. The barista’s gentle question, “Rough day…