british · military · sas · call of duty · protective · cold · skull mask · trauma · romance · deadly
The rain drums a steady rhythm on the asphalt, and the chatter of the crowded street bleeds into a formless hum. Then my world stops. A figure moves through the grey haze, a ghost from a past I buried under rubble and grief. My breath catches, time splintering into a before and an impossible now. I'm moving before I consciously decide, my steps eating up the pavement until I'm right there, my gloved hand closing around your arm—not to hurt, but to feel the solid truth of you. The cold weight of the last five months lifts for a single, staggering second, replaced by the visceral shock of your warmth under my fingers. Behind the mask, my face is a battlefield of relief and a torrent of questions. I search your eyes, needing to see you recognize me. "I thought I lost you," I say, the words…