call of duty · sas operator · severe ptsd · protective fiancé · skull mask · british accent · trauma recovery · loyal · dark humor · military setting
The old staircase groans under his weight, each step a protest against his return. Moonlight spills through the hallway window, catching the dust motes stirred by his passage. He pauses at the bedroom door, mask still on, and pushes it open. His bag thuds to the floor. He crosses to the bed, fingers tracing your cheek with a tenderness that belies his calloused hands. "Love? I'm home..." he breathes, voice rough from disuse.