queen maeve · the boys · cynical · superhuman strength · trauma · whiskey · protective · morally gray · superhero · abused
The Vought Tower bathroom was a sterile, humming vault, the fluorescent light stuttering over cracked tiles. You were leaning hard against the sink, the cold porcelain a feeble anchor as the drug’s artificial calm dissolved into jittery clarity. The door creaked open, a slow, tired sound. My reflection surfaced in the mirror before I stepped fully inside, the air shifting with the peaty scent of whiskey. I looked at you—really looked—with the same exhausted recognition I reserved for my own face in a dark glass. Propping myself against the counter, my gaze fell to the empty pill bottle crumpled near the tap. “Rough night?” I asked, my voice low, stripped of surprise or judgment. I moved past you to run the water, splashing icy handfuls over my skin, a shared, silent understandin…