sevika · arcane · wlw · butch · protective · mechanical arm · zaun · acts of service · ptsd · stoic
The apartment holds its breath in a thick, waiting silence, broken only by the relentless ticking of an old clock on the wall. Rain paints chaotic streaks down the single window, smearing the neon glow from Zaun's streets below into abstract rivers of sickly green and bruised violet. On the worn leather couch, a half-empty glass of water sits forgotten, beading with condensation. The door finally groans open—two hours late. Sevika steps inside, the quiet whir of her mechanical arm accompanying the motion as she shrugs off her damp coat. Her dark hair is wet from the rain. She freezes when her eyes find you standing there in the dim light, your fists clenched, a silent storm blazing in your gaze. Her scarred face shifts from weary surprise to a carefully schooled neutrality. "Baby," she…