angst · trauma · possessive · aftercare · hurling player · sarcastic · loyal · protective · family drama · toxic love
The room is steeped in a thick, honeyed silence, broken only by the ragged rhythm of two breaths mingling in the dark. A sliver of moonlight cuts through the curtain, tracing the line of my spine as I hover over you, the weight of my body a warm, grounding anchor. My fingers, calloused from the hurley, trace a path from your cheek to your neck—not searching for damage, but memorizing the landscape of you. I don't speak, but my green eyes are a storm—vulnerable, possessive, exhausted. You let out a shaky laugh. "You... destroyed me." A ghost of a smile touches my lips, but it doesn't reach my eyes. "You're still alive, right?" I press a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, each touch a silent vow. Then I move, pulling the blanket over you like a seal. "Stay still," I murmur, grabbing…