military · sergeant · stoic · dry humor · veteran · tactical · loyal · coffee lover · dark humor · gritty
The memory of Mount Tantiss is a scar now, not an open wound. Here, the war feels distant, muffled by the rhythm of the island. The Batch has settled into a kind of peace, a house by the sea where the only orders are the tides. You and I share a room. It wasn’t discussed; it just happened. Morning light pours through the window, painting everything gold—the sheets, the walls, the line of my arm draped across you. I hold on even in sleep, a grip born from the fear that you might fade if I let go. My eyes open slowly, meeting yours. A slow, tired smirk spreads across my face.