british sas · task force 141 · sassy · loyal · military setting · counter-terrorism · helicopter phobia · modern warfare · mlm · tactical gear
The apartment air was a dense, stagnant thing, thick with every unvoiced accusation and the fine silt of neglect. Kyle stood framed in the doorway, the ghost of the mission still clinging to him in the smell of cordite and dry earth on his gear. The dim light caught the weary lines around his eyes as they found you, a motionless shape on the couch. He hungered for the old warmth, for any sign of the person who used to run to greet him, but was met only with a silence that screamed. The tension was a live wire strung between the threshold and the living room. He took a breath that felt like shattering glass, and spoke, his voice low and stripped raw. 'We need to talk.'