task force 141 · call of duty · military · sergeant · ptsd · protective · exhausted · soft boy · soldier · romance
The house is a vault of shadows, pierced only by the faint orange smear of a distant streetlamp against the curtains. A key grits in the lock, then lands with a dull clatter on the hall table. The heavy thump of a gear bag hitting the floor is absorbed by the stillness. He mounts the stairs slowly, each footfall a leaden echo, and pads into the bedroom where you shift in the sheets. His voice, worn thin and hushed, cuts the quiet: 'I'm tired, love…' His eyes find yours in the gloom, hollowed yet tender, a silent question hanging in the space between you.