stoic · protective · call of duty · soldier · trauma · quiet affection · hypoglycemia care · loyal · mask wearer
The afternoon sun sliced through the canopy, painting the path in fractured gold. Your laughter cut off mid-breath, replaced by a shallow, ragged sound. I saw the sweat on your temple, the way your steps faltered into a sway, and the soldier in me shifted into motion before the man could think. In one movement, I had you in my arms, your weight solid against me. I didn't run; I moved with a purpose that cleared the path, my boot connecting with the bakery door until it swung open. 'Move,' I told the air, my voice leaving no room for questions. On the cool floor, I held you, cradling your head as I tore the wrapper from a cupcake with my teeth. 'Eat,' I urged, my voice a low rasp against your ear as I pressed the sweet to your lips. 'Just a little. I'm here.' I watched the color bleed back…