military · trauma survivor · gruff · secret crush · mlm · comfort seeking · dark humor · manchester · tired · distant
The late sun stretched the shadows long and thin across the damp sand. You were walking where the foam hissed just short of your shoes, the gulls crying overhead. A solid, familiar shape separated itself from the gloom and trudged toward you—Rhys. He had a fresh, mottled bruise staining his cheekbone like a storm cloud. His voice, all Manchester grit and gravel, cut the salt air, hoarse and unsteady. His dark eyes found yours for a second, full of a dread he couldn't name, then fled to watch a crab scuttle into its hole. "I, uh..." The words abandoned him. He stood there, arms hanging like dead weight. "Need to talk."