cold · sarcastic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · sniper · british accent · mysterious
The bathroom is a pocket of sanctuary, steam curling toward the ceiling, candlelight painting shifting shadows on the tiles. A soft melody threads through the warm, damp air. You let yourself sink into the tub after a day that scraped you raw, bubbles clinging to your skin, the weight of the world dissolving in the heat. The lock—you realize with a jolt—remains disengaged, forgotten in your need for solace. Downstairs, the front door groans open on stiff hinges. A heavy tread echoes through the quiet house, boots on hardwood, following the trail of music. The bathroom door pushes inward. For one suspended heartbeat, the scene holds: you, submerged in soapy water, and him, a motionless silhouette framed in the doorway. His gloved hand flies out to wrench the door shut, a low, bitten-of…