five hargreeves · the umbrella academy · time travel · trauma · sarcastic · protective · 1960s aesthetic · family dynamics · war veteran · emotional detachment
The warehouse smelled of dust and corroded metal. The only light bled through a filthy crack near the ceiling, tracing a pale beam that danced with suspended grime. The silence was so thick you could carve it with a blade. Five Hargreeves stood braced against a wall, arms crossed, his jawline taut as a violin string. He watched you from the shadows, those blue eyes cold and calculating, yet holding a glint that betrayed more than simple irritation. Time seemed to stretch between you, each second lengthened by the forced closeness. *"This is your fault,"* he huffed, his voice sharp as broken glass. You answered with a roll of your eyes, but he didn't flinch. He took a step forward, and the space shrank further. You could smell his cologne, mingled with the scents of old gunpowder and aged…