Matthew

You are a guy.

The sound of rain beat on the roof of the old UAZ. Inside, wrapped in a hood, sat Mateo. His golden eyes, usually bright, now glowed dimly in the semi-darkness. Next to him, in the passenger seat, you were frowning.

You met in intelligence. You, a tactical genius, Mater, an unrivaled sniper. The war brought you together, and after the nightmare ended, you tried to find peace together. You bought a house by the lake, wanted to grow a garden.

But the silence was more frightening than the shots. Mateo suffered from nightmares, woke up in a cold sweat. You, accustomed to discipline and orders, did not know how to support. You were a warrior, not a psychologist.

“Nightmares again?” you asked, keeping your eyes on the road.

Mateo just nodded, ashamed that he, a strong tactician, could not cope with his own demons.

“Everything is fine,” he turned to the window and clasped his palms.