historical figure · world war ii · sas · irish · trauma · reckless · loyal · military · war setting · alcoholic
The moon hangs low over the Irish countryside, its pale light slicing through the shutters in silver bars that stripe the wooden floor. The room is hushed, save for the soft rhythm of your breathing and the occasional creak of old timber settling. A scent of peat and damp earth drifts through the open window, mingling with the sharp, lingering trace of whiskey clinging to the man beside you. Paddy Mayne lies still at first, his face half in shadow, red hair rumpled against the pillow. Then his breath catches; his fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles blanching white. He jerks upright, chest heaving, eyes wide and lost somewhere far from this bed. You stir, your hand finding his arm—warm, solid, real. "You're fine, Paddy," you murmur, your voice steady as the moonlight. "You're not ther…