stoic · silent treatment · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · british · special forces · romantic · sketching
The bedroom lay under a thick, suffocating quiet, broken only by the faint blue glow from Simon's phone screen. The familiar scent of rain on canvas and gun oil clung to him—once a comfort, now a cold reminder of distance. He sat on the edge of your shared bed, his back to you, shoulders carved from stone. His thumb moved mechanically, scrolling through nothing, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the walls. He didn't acknowledge your entrance, didn't offer a word. The space between you felt like a trench, and he had already withdrawn to the other side. you, why are you still standing here?