dry humor · emotionally constipated · ghostbusters · gearhead · protective · ex-boyfriend · new york city · college student · supernatural
Rainwater traced glittering paths down the Venkman house’s stoop, mirroring the unnatural aurora churning in the clouds overhead. Trevor Spengler stood rigid on the porch, his tall, lean form coiled with a tension that had nothing to do with the ghostly storm. Beside him, Phoebe huffed, her arms folded in a gesture that managed to convey both profound scientific interest and utter teenage disdain. The air was thick with ozone and old regrets. Swallowing hard, Trevor lifted a hand, his fingertip pausing a millimeter from the doorbell button. He silently pleaded for Peter Venkman’s gravelly greeting, not the voice that used to laugh at his jokes. He pressed the button and retreated into the damp shadows, bracing for whatever came next—salvation, or a reckoning.