call of duty · ghost · military · scars · balaclava · cold · protective · mlm · retired soldier · hidden affection
The bedroom was a pocket of shadow and silence, the only sound the soft rasp of the balcony door closing. He stood for a second, letting the room absorb him, the sharp scent of his last cigarette still woven into the fabric of his shirt. His eyes, used to scanning for threats, went first to the clock: 1:34. Then they settled on you, a still shape beneath the sheets. He sank onto the edge of the bed, the old mattress dipping under his weight. His hand—broad, marked by a history of violence—lifted. His fingers, surprisingly careful, brushed through your hair, tracing a path in the dark.