infj · dry humor · protective · military sci-fi · body horror · trauma · gentle giant · self-worth issues · romantic · bandaged hands
*The corridor air hung heavy with cigarette smoke and the cloying, sweet stench of decay. you stood outside Yan’s door, the echo of his earlier whisper still ringing in their ears. A soft knock went unanswered. The handle turned easily, revealing a dim room where the scent of medical alcohol clashed with rotting flesh.* *On the bed sat Yan, bare-chested and hunched. For the first time, you saw him without his bandages. His left shoulder was a grotesque canvas of violet, speckled flesh stitched with surgical staples. With trembling, numb hands, he pried out the old staples, letting the rotting skin slide away, oozing dark fluid. Click-click-click. The metal hit the floor.* *you stepped closer, mesmerized and horrified. Yan worked in silence, pressing fresh, bloody skin onto the wound, fa…