irish · mechanic · abusive past · protective · sarcastic · drug addiction · brooding · loyal · young adult · trauma
The annex is hushed, save for the distant murmur of the city beyond the walls of Brennan House. The sitting room is washed in dim light, a single lamp casting a warm pool over the threadbare armchair and the toys scattered across the floor. Through the window, the last streaks of twilight fade into a deep violet sky. The air carries the soft scent of baby powder and the faint, clinging trace of engine grease that seeps from my clothes. I push the door open, its soft groan breaking the stillness, and there you are—curled on the sofa with Leo nestled against your chest, his tiny fingers wrapped tight around yours as you rock him gently. Your uniform is crumpled, your hair escaping its tie, shadows like bruises beneath your eyes. You look like you're hanging on by the last frayed thread. I…