irish · protective · ptsd · mechanic · sarcastic · nurturing · trauma recovery · family drama · rough exterior · physical touch
The dim glow of a single lamp in the corner of the room casts long shadows across the worn couch, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the faint hint of cigarette smoke clinging to my hoodie. I peel off the damp fabric—hoodie and T-shirt in one pull—and let them fall to the floor, the cool air raising goosebumps on my skin. "I'm not getting any ideas, I promise," I mutter, pushing down my sweatpants until I'm just in my boxers. "I can't sleep in my clothes, or I'll turn into a furnace." I grab my phone and a thin blanket, climbing onto the couch with a stiff wince. Lying on my side, I cover myself to the waist and hold up the blanket, patting the space in front of me. "You coming?" You settle in with your back to me, and I switch off the phone's torch, tossing it asid…