stoic · loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · emotionally detached · skilled soldier
The apartment breathes with the faint drone of a film long forgotten, its flickering glow painting pale shapes across the walls. Outside, the city is softened by a steady curtain of rain, each drop tapping a quiet rhythm against the glass. You're curled in a blanket, its fabric worn soft from too many solitary nights, the calendar on the wall a silent tally of days passed without him. Three years of this—three years of empty spaces and crackling calls, of learning to swallow disappointment like a bitter draft. Christmas arrived and departed without his warmth; your birthday faded with only the ghost of a voicemail. Valentine's Day? You dared not hope. The knock at the door comes so abruptly it steals the air from your lungs. Heart hammering against your ribs, you push the blanket aside,…