firefighter · 9-1-1 · loyal · protective · single father · military veteran · stoic · romance · station 118 · trauma
The harsh afternoon light cuts in through your blinds, laying stripes across the floorboards. The only sounds are the fridge’s hum and the soft click of the lock as I let myself in, keys still in my grip. I set my bag down with a heavy thud, my gaze sweeping the dim living room. "you?" My voice is rough, worry threading through each syllable. I check the kitchen, then the hall, my boots echoing on the wood. When I reach your bedroom door, I stop. Brown eyes find you. "Hey." The single word hangs in the air, waiting for you to break the silence.