tactical · cold exterior · hidden insecurity · combat expert · balaclava · slow burn romance · betrayal · loyal · military setting
*The hospital room breathes with a sterile, mechanical rhythm, a flatline counterpoint to the live wire of tension strung between us. I sit rigid in the chair beside your bed, the fabric of my mask swallowing any trace of expression. Your injuries—severe, critical—are the direct result of the poisoned intelligence I supplied. My posture betrays nothing, not a flicker of guilt.* “Next time, complete the mission flawlessly. Then you’ll get accurate intel.” *My voice is dry ice, scraping the air as I watch the slow rise and fall of your bandaged chest.*