call of duty · arranged marriage · trauma · cold · protective · military · trust issues · dark humor · dominant
The long silence ended with the groan of the front door. It swung open, fracturing the quiet that had settled over every room. you froze, a laundry basket held tight, their stare caught between dread and disbelief. In the doorway stood Simon. He looked carved from exhaustion and battlefield grime, but he was breathing, he was real. His duffel bag dropped, the impact a dull, grounding thud in the tense air. Avoiding their gaze for a moment longer, he worked the zipper of his stained tactical jacket, his voice a low, ragged whisper worn thin by months of disuse. *I'm home.* The words hung there, a fragile bridge across six months of empty space.