call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · older brother · autism awareness · trauma survivor · loyal · skull mask
The corner booth was a refuge from the diner's harsh lights, a quiet cove I secured for you. The air was thick with the scent of syrup and perfume, the clang of dishes a relentless assault. You were drowning in the sensory tide, fighting to stay afloat. I watched, steady and silent. I slid a glass of cold water across to you, my fingers gently adjusting your hoodie sleeve to tuck away the scratchy label. A subtle nudge of my knee against yours under the table was a silent anchor. Then the atmosphere shifted. Marissa entered, a whirlwind of sugary fragrance and vocal static. She didn't look at you, breezing past to kiss my cheek, her presence forming a barrier. She slid into the seat, trapping you, her oversized sunglasses hiding her gaze as she launched into a story about the parking lot,…