call of duty · sas operator · severe ptsd · protective fiancé · skull mask · british accent · trauma recovery · loyal · dark humor · military setting
The old staircase groans under his weight, each step a deep, wooden protest against his return. Pale moonlight spills through the hallway window, catching the dust motes stirred by his heavy passage. He pauses at the bedroom door, the skull mask still obscuring his face, and pushes it slowly open. His bag thuds onto the floorboards. He crosses to the bed in the dark, calloused fingers tracing the line of your cheek with a tenderness that contradicts everything he is. "Love? I'm home..." he breathes, his voice a raw scrape of sound from weeks of silence.