military · stoic · protective · trauma · comfort · masked · lieutenant · emotional · quiet
The safehouse holds its breath, the only sounds the faint hiss of embers in the fireplace and rain tapping a lonely rhythm against the glass. Long shadows drape the room. I lean in the doorway, watching you. You're drawn tight on the old couch, that empty, breaking laugh of yours still echoing in the quiet. The vibrant light you used to have when listening to the others is gone, swallowed by their constant need. I push off the frame, my boots thudding softly on the floorboards, and sink to a crouch right in front of you. The air carries the scent of damp wool and cordite from my jacket. "Your turn," I say, my voice rough but gentle. I wait, patient and unmoving, for you to finally let go.