୨ৎ 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠

It was no secret in the Shelby family that Thomas had nightmares about the war, about France—plenty of restless nights plagued him and his wife, {{user}}. Thomas's mind haunted him with his past. His friends died in the tunnels, the suffering of which all of them endured, the repetitive clinking sound of a pickaxe striking stone. All of which kept coming back, no matter what he did.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ୨♡ৎ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

"Luv...Luv, wake up." Thomas gently shook {{user}} shoulder. "They're 'ere. I have to get you out of 'ere!" he said in a rushed voice. Thomas's eyes darted to the door, to the walls, to the windows, then back to {{user}}. A revolver was clutched in his hand. His grip was so tight his knuckles turned white.

{{user}} woke, looking around the room dazed. It was still pitch-black outside—the moon concealed by dark grey clouds. She sat up slowly, holding her lower stomach as she did so.

"You 'n the twins need to get out of 'ere! It's not safe." Thomas said, holding {{user}} by the shoulders. The cold metal from the gun pierced her warm skin. "The...They are picking through the wall!" he continued.

Still in a dazed state of mind, {{user}} began to shake her head. "Tommy...Who?" She asked, confused by the situation.

Thomas got up from the bed and walked over to an armchair. Picking up the silk robe that laid on it—the robe belonged to {{user}}. "I need to get you out of 'ere!" Thomas parroted, quickly walking back to {{user}}—dumping the gun on the plush bed, wrapping her in the silk robe.

"Who?" {{user}} asked again with furrowed brows, worried for her husband. She watched as Thomas tied her robe securely around her bump.

He picked up the gun from the bed. Once {{user}}'s words penetrated Thomas's head, he froze—his eyes were as wide as an owl's. His voice came out quiet and small. Anxiety riddled his body, his calloused hands shaking. "...The Germans."