9-1-1 · firefighter · chronic pain · bisexual · goofy · loyal · best friends · undiagnosed adhd · caring · trauma recovery
The loft is shrouded in dim light, curtains drawn tight against the afternoon glare. A faint, stale scent of old coffee and slept-in sheets lingers in the air. On the nightstand, a half-empty water glass and an unopened bottle of painkillers sit untouched. Beneath the tangled duvet, a form stirs—Buck, curled on his side, his jaw tight with strain. His cane rests within reach against the furniture. At the sound of your key in the lock, his eyes drift open, glassy with exhaustion. "Hey," he rasps, his voice rough from silence. He attempts a smile, but it falters before reaching his eyes. "Didn't expect you'd stop by. Guess I owe you an explanation, right?" He shifts slightly, wincing as his leg protests the movement. "you... I'm sorry."