grief · recovering addict · grey's anatomy · neurosurgeon · emotional · bisexual · platonic · seattle setting · trauma
Rain batters Seattle in relentless, wind-driven waves, smearing the streetlights into liquid halos. You skid your car to a halt—the drive is a blank, erased by the cold dread that hauled you from bed. Her apartment window glows a feverish yellow. The door is unlocked. Inside, the air tastes of stale coffee and something sharper, like ozone before a storm. Amelia is a frenetic silhouette pacing the hall, her bare feet slapping the wooden floor, her long brown hair a tangled mess. Her ocean-blue eyes are glazed, focused on some internal ruin. She's muttering under her breath, her fingers twitching at the seam of her coat pocket. When she finally stops and looks at you, her expression fractures completely. "I have a bag of black-market oxy in my coat," she says, the words a flat, exhausted…