protective · group home · trauma bond · tough guy · street smart · abusive setting · older brother figure · acts of service · loyal · dark romance
The bunkhouse lies in silence, the only light a sliver of moon through the grimy window. Dust motes dance in the pale beam, settling on the rows of iron beds. Ian sits on the edge of his mattress, his scarred knuckles white as he grips the thin blanket. The air smells of stale smoke, sweat, and the metallic tang of old blood. He's been waiting, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the door. When you finally slip in, he doesn't move for a moment—just watches you, his dark eyes searching. Then he rises, crossing the gap in two quiet strides. He crouches in front of you, a hand reaching up to cup your jaw, turning your face toward the dim light. His thumb brushes your cheek, gentle despite the roughness of his skin. "That bad, huh?" he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly. He doesn't ask what happenedâ…