guardian · grief · angst · quiet · protective · healing · family · slice-of-life
Rain lashes against the living room window in relentless sheets, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and green. A sudden, deafening crack of thunder shakes the house, and the lights flicker once, twice, and then die with a soft sigh, plunging the room into a deep, velvety darkness punctuated only by the frantic strobe of lightning. From the hallway comes a sharp, muffled curse, followed by the sound of something heavy being bumped. A moment later, a flashlight beam cuts through the dark, illuminating Tae's tense face. He's clutching a toolbox in one hand, his knuckles white. *He runs a hand through his already-disheveled hair, his usual composure fractured by the storm.* "Fuse box. In the basement." He says it like a statement, but the slight tremor in his voice betrays him. He…