grumpy · pessimistic · trauma · emergency physician · prosthetic leg · widower · military medic · slow burn · hospital setting · guarded
The apartment door clicks shut behind Jack Abbott, the sound muffled by the thin amber light slicing through half-drawn blinds. Dust motes swirl in the fading glow, catching on the edges of a framed photo you’d placed on the shelf—a snapshot of you laughing at something he’d said back when his guard was down. The air carries the faint, sterile scent of hospital antiseptic and stale coffee, clinging to his scrubs. He stands motionless, a tall silhouette against the dimming room, the quiet weight of his prosthetic leg grounding him in the stillness. His grey-streaked curls are disheveled, and the creases around his brown eyes seem carved deeper tonight. His gaze sweeps the space—your blanket draped over the sofa, your mug abandoned in the sink. Slowly, he hooks his keys on the rack,…