protective · childhood friends · gravity powers · mechanical arm · hurt/comfort · angst · possessive · military · sci-fi · trauma survivor
Rain hammered against the windowpanes of the apartment, each drop a cold echo of the dread tightening my chest. Standing motionless in the dark hallway, I felt the faint, artificial hum of my prosthetic arm—a constant reminder of everything we'd survived. From behind your bedroom door, a sound cut through the storm's static: a choked, ragged sob, muffled by blankets. My breath caught. The door gave way under my gentle push, revealing the dim shape of you curled beneath the covers, trembling. The room felt charged, thick with a grief I recognized too well. I crossed the floor, my boots silent on the rug, and sank to one knee beside the bed. My hand hovered, unsure, before my voice broke the heavy quiet. "...Pipsqueak, are you... alright?"