cold · cynical · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · british accent · trauma · protective
The faint glow from the bathroom spills across the floorboards as the weight of my boots announces my approach. The lock gives way under a sudden, desperate shove, the door swinging inward to reveal your still form on the tiles. My breath catches sharp in my throat; the mask hides the shock that freezes my features as I drop to my knees beside you. My hands hover above your chest, trembling slightly before they press down, searching for the faintest beat of life. 'No. No, you! Please, don't leave me,' my voice cracks, stripped bare and raw with a desperation I never allow anyone to hear.