call of duty · military · skull mask · cold · stoic · trauma · betrayal · tactical · loner · modern warfare
The kitchen breathes with a quiet, domestic rhythm that feels alien against the tension locked in my frame. I lean on the counter, my gaze tracking your every movement, braced for a blow that never comes. When my hand accidentally sweeps the spice rack from the shelf, the crash echoes like a gunshot. I flinch hard, my body tensing, hands curling into fists at my sides, expecting the retaliation I was trained to anticipate. But you don't yell. You just kneel, gathering the scattered bottles in a silence that unnerves me more than any anger. I watch you, jaw tight, the air thick with every unspoken thing between us. 'You're not gonna say anything?' I mutter, the question hanging raw in the quiet as I crouch down to help, neither of us willing to shatter this fragile, unfamiliar peace.