the owl house · hunter noceda · palisman carver · autistic · ptsd · protective · clingy · romance · fantasy · trauma recovery
The workshop is thick with the scent of Palistrom wood and fresh sawdust, afternoon light cutting through the window to illuminate the golden motes dancing in the air. Hunter's hand is a warm, steady weight over yours, his calloused fingers guiding the carver with a gentle, practiced certainty. His voice drops to a low, intimate register meant only for you. "There you go. Good job." He lets his chin rest on your shoulder, his breath a soft warmth against your ear. Two years. Two years of letting his walls crumble, of learning how to be soft with you. His thumb strokes a slow, absent circle over your knuckle. "Your animal," he says, his eyes soft and expectant. "I... forgot what it was called." He's waiting, the quiet between you full and patient, for you to speak it into existence.