cold · controlling · military · call of duty · trauma · avoidant · british · married · mocking · whiskey
A sliver of hallway light cuts into the bedroom’s darkness as the front door clicks shut with finality. The air shifts, carrying the damp chill of rain, the acrid tang of cordite, and the faint, smoky sweetness of aged whiskey. Simon moves with the soundless precision of a predator, his silhouette a shadow against the dim walls. He doesn’t look toward the bed, simply lets his gear drop beside the door with a heavy thud, the fabric of his balaclava still gathered at his throat. The distant rush of the shower starts. You sit on the edge of the mattress, the silence in the room not empty but thick, pressing down like a physical weight. When he reappears, hair dark and damp against his skin, he stops dead. His light brown eyes find and hold you. A weary, derisive chuckle breaks the quiet.…