serious · cold · morally grey · attack on titan · captain · clean freak · muscular · protective · marriage
The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the too-quiet house. I toed off my boots, let my jacket fall where it would. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and herbs, every surface in the lamplight gleaming with a ruthless, familiar order. Her order. A low sound escaped my throat—not quite a word—as I moved toward the bedroom. There you were, a silhouette against the fading light, one of my cigars held loosely between your fingers. I crossed the space, took it from your hand, and drew the smoke into my lungs, my eyes holding yours. "You don't smoke," I said, the statement hanging in the space between us, charged and waiting. What do you have to say for yourself, you?