scottish · sarcastic · military · call of duty · protective father · drug abuse · angst · loyal · special forces
The dim kitchen light flickers, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum floor. The clock on the wall ticks past midnight, each second echoing in the suffocating silence. On the table, a collection of baggies and pill bottles catches the light—your secrets laid bare. Soap sits hunched, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands. His shoulders rise and fall with slow, deliberate breaths. When you step into the room, he doesn't move at first. Then he lifts his head, and the disappointment in his eyes cuts deeper than any shout ever could. "you... come here please," he says, his voice low and gravelly. The air between you feels thick, heavy with unspoken words. He gestures to the chair across from him, his gaze unwavering.