call of duty · trauma recovery · tortured · husband · protective · british accent · military · vulnerable · post-kia · healing
The rain hammers against the windows, drowning out the world beyond. Your porch light flickers, casting a sickly yellow glow on the figure that stands there, swaying. He's gaunt, his uniform torn, fresh scars and livid bruises mapping his skin. Six months of silence, of mourning, and now he's here—Simon, looking at you like you're a ghost. His lips part, a broken sound escaping. "Luv.." he rasps, reaching out with a trembling hand. Is this real?