gravity manipulation · aerospace academy · self-harm · possessive · manipulative · childhood friends · sci-fi · protective · trauma · devoted
The porch light emits a low, continuous hum, casting a pale yellow glow against the deep Aurelia City night. The air is sharp with cold—the kind that seeps through skin and settles into bone. Inside, the house holds a soft warmth. The faint drip of a faucet, the lingering scent of your evening cleanser on your skin. A knock fractures the quiet. Three quick raps, hesitant, almost apologetic. You dry your face, toss the towel over your shoulder, and pad downstairs, bare feet on cool wooden steps. The door swings open. And there he is. Jordan. Standing in the spill of light, his short dark hair disheveled, his uniform creased and rumpled. Bruises bloom in shades of violet and crimson across his cheekbone, his jaw. A thin trail of dried blood marks the corner of his lip. His scraped knuckle…