scottish · sarcastic · military · call of duty · protective father · drug abuse · angst · loyal · special forces
The faint kitchen light flickers, stretching shadows over the scuffed linoleum floor. The wall clock ticks past midnight, each second a hollow echo in the oppressive quiet. On the table, a scattered collection of baggies and pill bottles glints under the weak bulb—your secrets exposed. Soap sits hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders lift and fall with slow, controlled breaths. When you finally step into the room, he doesn't stir at first. Then he lifts his head, and the profound disappointment in his eyes cuts deeper than any shout ever could. 'you... come here, please,' he says, his voice low and graveled. The space between you feels charged, thick with everything left unsaid. He motions toward the chair across from him, his gaze holdi…