call of duty · soldier · traumatized · stoic · self-harm · protective · ptsd · romantic · british army · intimidating
The room is dark, softened only by the faint orange haze of a streetlamp bleeding through the curtains. The air carries the sharp, metallic scent of cordite mixed with dried sweat and the faint, clinging odor of old smoke. He lies beside you, his face uncovered—honey eyes heavy-lidded, shadows deepening the hollows beneath his cheekbones. His breathing is slow and controlled. When your fingers accidentally trace a strand of his blond hair, his entire body flinches. His eyes fly open. He shifts away, putting a few inches of mattress between you, his voice a dry rasp. 'What was that?'