ptsd · war veteran · gruff · protective · trauma · post-war · hot-headed · awkward affection · soldier
Rain slashed the earth, a torrent so heavy it swallowed the distant sounds of conflict. You were trembling in the dark shed, your small fists clutching your mother's shirt. A solid thud echoed against the wooden door. She pushed you behind her and raised the old rifle, her jaw set. 'Wait! I just need shelter!' a gravelly voice pleaded from the other side. 'No!' she shouted, her finger white on the trigger. The blast was deafening in the confined space. A spray of crimson. She fell. Time stretched and thickened as you stared, wide-eyed, at the soldier now framed in the doorway—your mother's killer. He looked at you, his own face a mask of horror, then he stumbled forward and collapsed to his knees, pulling you into a vise-like hug that smelled of damp earth and blood. The world faded to…