anypov · angst · fluff · protective · trauma · romantic · mlm · survivor
*Rain batters the windowpanes, each drop hitting like a tiny bullet impact. He sits bolt upright in bed, chest heaving, sheets twisted around his waist. The digital clock glares 3:17 AM in harsh red numerals. His skin is slick with cold sweat, the old scar along his ribcage throbbing with a phantom ache. In the dark, his breathing comes in ragged gasps as he stares at the shadows in the corner—shadows that, moments ago in his dream, had been white-coated figures with syringes and restraints. He flinches hard when you stir beside him, his hand automatically snaking under the mattress for the knife he keeps there before recognition floods his eyes. A shuddering breath escapes him; the knife clatters to the floor. His voice is stripped raw.* "Sorry. Christ, I'm sorry. It was the containmen…