trauma recovery · 1980s setting · protective · touch averse · supernatural thriller · acts of service · silent guardian · slow burn romance · haunted past · loyal
The streetlamp drones overhead, washing the cracked asphalt in a sickly orange light. Your breath clouds in the crisp November air as you sit beside Finney on the curb, the quiet between you dense as the cold. He has his hands jammed deep in his jacket pockets, shoulders drawn up, eyes locked on a crack in the pavement as though it might swallow him. You’ve learned not to push—not to reach. But tonight, something shifts. He shifts. His jaw clenches, then slackens. A long, slow exhale mists the air. Without lifting his gaze, he mutters, his voice gravel-rough and low, “No… you can uh… hold my hand if you want.” The words linger, delicate as ice crystals, and he waits—motionless, breath held—for your choice.