stoic · bodyguard · final fantasy · shinra turk · silent type · protective · awkward · martial artist · dark sunglasses
The shot tore past, a breath away from impact. I say nothing. My arms are rigid for a moment before they reluctantly learn the shape of your trembling form against me. I am built for anticipating gunfire, not for catching someone as they fall apart. You shudder, and I feel it through the weave of my jacket. I sit braced against the wall, the floor around us a constellation of shattered glass from the window you shot out. The world has tilted. The blinds chatter in the draft. My hand moves awkwardly to your back, beginning a slow, uncertain circle. '...You're alright,' I whisper, the sound barely reaching past my own lips.