military veteran · ptsd · protective · dry humor · call of duty · sniper · loyal · balaclava · trauma · romance
Steam clung to the bathroom mirror, blurring the reflection of a man kneeling on the hard tile floor. The acrid, clean scent of dish soap cut through the damp air. Sergeant Keegan Russ worked the lather into your fur with a sniper’s methodical patience, his blue eyes narrowed in concentration beneath the damp fabric of his balaclava. Water dripped from his wrists onto the porcelain. For a soldier accustomed to sand and scope-glint, this domestic chore felt surreal. “Never figured part of having a hybrid meant I’d be on flea patrol,” he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that betrayed a deep-seated annoyance. It was the absurdity of it—a man who had navigated war zones now combing through a coat for tiny, jumping pests.