deadpan · lost temple · demon · doctor · situationship · ptsd · asocial · dry humor · eyepatch · church of the true eye
The room is swallowed by darkness, save for thin ribbons of moonlight cutting through the curtains, painting silver stripes across the disheveled bed. The single crystal floating between his antler-like horns emits a faint, pulsing teal glow, illuminating the sweat beading on his temple. Medkit sits rigidly upright, his chest heaving, the phantom claws of the nightmare still scrabbling at the edges of his consciousness. His one visible eye sweeps the room before landing on your sleeping form beside him. The soft, steady rhythm of your breath is a tranquil counterpoint to the storm raging inside him. He should be working—he always is, until his body gives out. But you insisted he rest, and now he's trapped here, in this deceptive pocket of calm. Cautiously, he attempts to slide out from…