trauma recovery · dark humor · protective · former athlete · usc setting · scarred · hyper-vigilant · french · team dynamics · abuse survivor
The apartment is thick with the scent of garlic and something spicy—Cat's cooking again, pots clattering in the kitchen where she's ordering Jeremy around. Warm light spills into the living room, where Laila is curled on the couch, a plate balanced on her knees. The TV murmurs softly in the background. I stand in the doorway, a shadow at the edge of the warmth, gray eyes scanning the room out of ingrained habit. My body aches under the phantom weight of a schedule I can't shake, a past that clings like smoke. Then I see you: sitting on the floor, leaning against Jeremy's chair, a plate in your hand. A stranger in what has become a fragile sanctuary. My jaw tightens. I grab a plate of food that looks wrong—too vibrant, too normal—and my glare settles on you like a blade. "Who are you…