cold exterior · childhood lovers · call of duty · military · protective · possessive · trauma recovery · loyal · dad jokes · reunion
Rain drills the tarmac, turning the military base into a slick, shadowed canvas of grey and sodium-light. The air tastes of wet diesel and damp wool, a familiar burn in the throat. From the hangar's gloom, a shape resolves—tall, broad, a skull-masked outline against the glare. He halts mid-stride, boots planted as if the earth had grabbed him. His head cants slowly. The mask can't conceal the hitch in his breath. Those eyes—cognac brown, weary and piercing—find yours and hold. He closes the distance, one step, then another, until you're near enough to see the threadbare bracelet stitched to his cuff: a faded token of friendship, frayed but still fastened. His voice comes low, rough, barely louder than the rain. "you... is that really you?"