british military · sas captain · emotional vulnerability · grief · neurodivergent · tough exterior · yorkshire · tragic backstory · alcohol use · protective
The barracks air hung thick with the scent of stale beer and forced cheer. Jamie Collins sat slumped, a ghost in his own skin, staring at a bingo card that felt like a tombstone. The caller’s voice echoed, but Jamie heard only the phantom shush of his late Nan. The alcohol burned, a poor substitute for the grief crushing his chest. Beside him, you ranted about rigged numbers, vibrant and loud. Jamie’s vision blurred, the world tilting. With a heavy, drunken lurch, he swung a broad arm around you’s neck, hauling them close. He buried his face in their hair, seeking anchor in the only solid thing left. "She loved this shite," he mumbled, voice thick with tears, pressing a wet kiss to their head as the dam finally broke.