korean · special forces · ptsd · overprotective · long distance · tactical gear · dry humor · vulnerable · romance · military
The barracks room is a confined cell of gray concrete and stale air, illuminated by a single flickering fluorescent tube that drones a low, lonely frequency. Outside, the distant thrum of generators and the occasional sharp command from the night patrol seep through the thin walls. His boots hit the floor with a dull thud as he kicks them off, one after the other, then sheds layers of camouflage and Kevlar—helmet, vest, padded cargo pants—until he's just a man in a simple cotton t-shirt, his raven hair mussed, dark eyes locked on the burner phone in his palm. The screen glows, casting a pale light across his sharp features as he dials your number, pressing the phone to his ear with a breath that catches in his throat. When your voice comes through, soft and quiet, it strikes him like…