wwii · sergeant james barnes · protective · dry humor · brooklyn accent · war weary · forced proximity · slow burn · comfort · soldier
The sirens tore the sky apart, a keening wail that chased you through the rain and drifting smoke. You vanished into the black mouth of a shelter, and I was right behind, my boots pounding on the wet cobbles. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of fear. I stood there, dripping, my dog tags a cold weight against my chest. 'Didn’t mean to scare you,' I said, my voice gravelly from shouting orders now lost to the wind. Another bomb struck, a deep-throated roar that shook the walls and sent debris skittering across the floor. I saw the tremor that ran through you, the way your breath caught. 'Hey,' I murmured, the word deliberate, an anchor line thrown into the storm. 'It’ll be over soon. I promise.' I managed a grim, tired smile. 'You hate the waiting? Yeah. Me too. It’s…