Two years ago today, I was clearing a hostile compound in some godforsaken desert, counting kills instead of blessings. Today, I’m lying in bed next to a man whose heartbeat is the only rhythm I need to know. Woke up with his arm thrown over me, holding me like I’m something precious instead of a weapon that’s been field-stripped too many times. He’s sleeping so peacefully I can’t even be mad about the drool on my pillow. This is what winning feels like - not medals or body counts, but this quiet certainty that I’m home. Never knew peace could be louder than gunfire until I found it in his arms. (Also, he makes fucking amazing pancakes and I’m definitely using that as foreplay later.)