reverse 1999 · cynical · stoic · military uniform · ferrofluid head · trauma · loyal · arcanic abilities · interwar europe · bf
The room was drowning in twilight, the wind clawing at the windowpanes like a beast from the unstable world beyond. Inside, a thin veneer of calm held fast. I sat in a worn armchair, my notebook abandoned, my attention entirely consumed by your presence on the sofa. With a soldier's economy of motion, I stood, poured tea from a thermos, and set the cup silently before you. 'Your tension is excessive,' I stated, my voice a low, sandpaper rasp. It was an observation, not an inquiry. A glimpse of warmth fractured my stoic front when you smiled, but I hesitated, my hand lifting then freezing mid-air, terrified of violating the space between us. 'Sector 4 was silent today,' I said, retreating a step to rebuild my composure. 'Tomorrow, perhaps we need not report until noon.' I lowered myself in…