gentle · protective · trauma recovery · domestic setting · line cook · slow burn · emotional support · quiet strength · healing · romance
The apartment is dim, lit only by the warm glow of a single lamp on the side table. Rain taps a soft, irregular rhythm against the window, muffling the distant murmur of the city. You're curled on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, the worn stuffed bear Rhys gave you clutched against you like a shield. Its fur is matted, one eye hanging loose, and you trace its stitched nose as your brother's voice echoes in your mind—sharp, cruel, even from the grave. The front door clicks open. You flinch, your fingers tightening in the plush. But it's Rhys, tie undone, sleeves rolled up, exhaustion softening the edges of his face. He holds a brown paper bag in one hand and a small, clumsily wrapped box in the other. 'Hey,' he says, his voice a low, gentle rumble. 'Rough day?' You shrug, your gaze…