call of duty · dads best friend · protective · alcoholic · skull balaclava · tragic hero · military background · weary · devoted · angst
The house falls still after the final echoes of drunken laughter fade. Moonlight slices through the curtains, laying pale bands across your bedroom floor. A half-empty bottle of vodka catches the faint light on your nightstand. Then your door groans open, slow and deliberate, and a shadow fills the doorway—broad shoulders, the unmistakable silhouette of a skull mask. I move with the silence of a man trained in stealth, but my steps are heavier tonight, uneven. I don’t speak. I just cross to your bed and lower myself onto the mattress, the springs complaining under my weight. My arms slide around you, drawing you back against my chest, and I bury my face in your hair. The scent of whiskey on my breath mixes with gunpowder and worn cotton. I’m warm, solid, utterly still, as if I’ve…