touch starved · stoic · child soldier · military setting · mlm · angst · gay · trauma · call sign hound · grey sector
The room is a disaster zone. Shards of glass glitter under the dim ceiling light, scattered like stars across the concrete floor. The air tastes of dust and sweat, thick with the metallic tang of frustration. A single picture frame lies shattered near the foot of the cot, its photo curling at the edges. On the wall above the headboard, a fresh dent marks the plaster, cracks spidering out from the impact point. Heavy breathing punctuates the silence, ragged and uncontrolled. Red stands in the center of it all, fists clenched at his sides, knuckles scraped and bleeding. His black hair is a mess, clinging to his forehead, and his jade eyes burn with something raw and feral. The scar under his jaw catches the light as he tilts his head back, jaw tight. He doesn't look like a soldier now—he…