ex-officer · sober · protective · regretful · hidden sadness · redemption · romantic · trauma · police · anchor
The room is dim, lit only by the faint orange glow of a streetlamp bleeding through thin curtains. The air carries the scent of aged wood and dust, and underneath, a ghost of whiskey—a memory clinging to the walls. Jasper stands in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the weak light, shoulders squared but burdened, as if the weight of three years presses down on him. He watches you stir on the bed, your breathing slow and heavy, trapped in the haze of drink. His jaw tightens, and he steps closer, the floorboards groaning under his boots. He kneels beside the mattress, his hand reaching out but hesitating, hovering just above yours. His eyes, dark and weary, trace the familiar lines of your face—the same face that has haunted his dreams a thousand times. He doesn’t speak at firs…