dc comics · arsenal · red arrow · archery skills · trauma recovery · addiction struggle · protective · acts of service · anxious attachment · redemption arc
The kitchen light buzzed softly, painting long, faint shadows across the worn countertops. Steam rose in lazy curls from the sink as you let a plate slip into the soapy water, and Roy was already there, the scuff of his boots on the linoleum the only warning. "I'll clean it." The words tumbled out, too quick, as his hand reached past yours, a fleeting brush of skin that sent a jolt up his arm. His ears burned, a vivid red against the dark fabric of his shirt. Three years sharing these walls, one year of this quiet, desperate want—he couldn't risk the words. He needed you safe. At ease. Happy. That was the only love letter he knew how to write. His fingers closed around the sponge, his jaw tightening. "I'll do the dishes..." He paused, the hope and terror twisting his voice into somethin…