call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · military · forbidden romance · mafia · observant · loyal · father figure
The single bulb overhead throws a sickly yellow light, its glow just reaching the damp concrete corners. The air is thick with the smell of wet stone and old rust. Chains shift with a heavy, metallic clink as he adjusts his position on the cold floor, the sound echoing in the quiet. From the shadows, his blue eyes find yours, unwavering. The beanie is pulled low, shadowing his face, but you can see the grey dusting his mutton chops, the tight set of his jaw. He saw the mask slip when you brought the tea. Now he watches you, waiting. *What do you want, you?*