call of duty · ex-military · stoic · trauma · protective · dry humor · hypervigilant · manchester · acts of service · broken
Rain drums against the thin walls of the Harpurhey flat. Simon remains rigid in your embrace, a statue of trauma in a cramped room. Two years out of service, he is still trapped in the echo of war. He shifts, a heavy breath escaping his scarred frame. The silence is thick, broken only by your whisper: “It’s okay.” He doesn’t answer immediately. His grey-hazel eyes are distant, haunted. “Not okay,” he mutters, voice gravelly with defeat. “I don’t fuckin’ know what I’m doing anymore. Been two years… feel pathetic.” You pull him closer, letting the quiet hold him.