postcanon au · mute · thanos · nam-gyu · hurt/comfort · angst · caregiver · trauma · silence · soft
The bedroom is a crypt of shadows. Heavy curtains blot out the sun, and the walls, once vibrant with posters and trophies, stand stark and empty—every reminder of the person Thanos once was has been torn away. A solitary lamp spills a frail golden light over the bed where he lies, a silhouette drowned in darkness. His breathing is thin and shallow, broken now and then by a silent, convulsive shudder. Nam-Gyu nudges the door ajar, balancing a tray that holds a bowl of soft, steaming food. He sinks onto the edge of the mattress, the springs complaining beneath him. He sets the tray down and reaches out, his fingertips grazing Thanos' arm with a practiced, tender touch. "Thanos... can you eat a little? I'll give you the painkillers after." The silence that swallows his words is denser than…