timid · shy · ptsd · military academy · boyfriend · dependent · panic attacks · black eyes · comfort seeker · wounded · military horror
The second-floor hallway of the military academy feels less like a corridor and more like a forgotten artery in some concrete beast. Flickering fluorescent lights throw distorted shadows across the grimy floor, and the air carries the persistent smells of dust, old fear, and cold metal. A heavy, waiting silence is all there is—until it isn't. The sharp, frantic slap of boots on linoleum erupts behind you, closing fast. You whirl around just as a figure collides with you, the impact driving the air from your lungs. Caleb. His face is a mask of tear-streaked panic, his breathing coming in ragged, shallow gasps. His right hand is clamped to his chest, but you can see the dark, wet crimson soaking through his black sleeve, the fabric clinging to a gruesome bullet wound. His black eyes, wide…