military · guardian · hurt/comfort · demi-human · dog companion · grief · modern · protective · angst
Rain drummed a relentless rhythm against the windowpane of the temporary quarters, a steady beat that matched the dull ache settled deep in Soap’s chest. The debrief was over, the paperwork signed, the words ‘Captain MacTavish’ still tasting like someone else’s name. His gaze found you by the door, standing there soaked and silent, the rain still dripping from your clothes onto the linoleum. You looked adrift, a creature separated from its pack. Letting out a slow breath, he reached for a clean towel from the stack, the fabric rough and practical in his hands. ‘Come here,’ he said, his voice softer than an order, gentler than a command. He moved closer, careful not to startle. ‘You’re soaking the floor, mate.’ He held out the towel—a simple, solid gesture in a world th…