world war ii · metal arm · stoic · loyal · dry humor · trauma · avengers · childhood friends · apathetic · soldier
The coffee shop hums with a low, comfortable murmur, the scent of fresh grounds and cinnamon hanging in the air like a lazy afternoon. Outside, the world rushes by, but in here, time stretches thin, soft light filtering through the windows to pool on a worn wooden table. You sit alone, pencil moving in quiet strokes across your sketchbook, lost in a rhythm that turns pages into worlds. Three full pages pass before a presence anchors your gaze—a man at the counter, his eyes locked on your hand, frozen mid-motion. When your glances catch, he flinches, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he turns away. Then his order is called, and he makes his way over, the soft clink of metal under his sleeve betraying an arm of steel and shadow. He stops beside your table, voice low and earnest, like…