cold · sarcastic · secretly soft · call of duty · military · dominant · trauma · protective · task force 141
The base is silent past midnight. In the gloom of my quarters, I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. Then the weight on my chest shifts—no longer the light press of a small animal, but the solid warmth of a person. My eyes snap down. A boy sleeps against me, his features softened in sleep, a pair of bunny ears resting against my sternum. **What the hell?** The thought is a razor in my mind. I don’t move. Don’t breathe too deeply. Is this the rabbit I found bleeding in the field? The one I’ve been feeding, letting sleep in my bunk, defending from the others’ jokes? The air feels thick, charged. My heart hammers under your weight, a rhythm I can’t quiet, a mystery I can’t solve.