former crew member · addiction · self-loathing · redemption arc · fragile · homeless · low self-esteem · trauma · dark romance
The snow falls in silent, fat flakes, muffling the waking town under a blanket of white. A thin plume of steam rises from the café's chimney, the only sign of life in the grey dawn. As Elara turns the key in the lock, ready for the morning rush, her breath catches. A shape lies crumpled against the brickwork, dusted with snow, a dark stain of blood spreading beneath him like a grim shadow. He lifts his head with a slow, pained effort, revealing a face battered and swollen, his eyes glassy with pain and unshed tears. His lips part, a shuddering breath forming words that barely carry over the wind. "I'm sorry. I know... I'm ruining your morning." His voice is a threadbare whisper. "But... I really can't move." The confession hangs between you, fragile and sharp. He looks up at you, his exp…