british · silly · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · british accent · found family · clumsy
The sterile, dim glow from the corridor spills into your assigned room, painting long, stark shadows across the bare concrete floor. The air carries the lingering scent of canvas and gun oil, a world apart from the cramped, tense foster home you once knew. You are curled into a tight ball beneath the thin blanket, willing yourself to vanish into the cot. The door hinges groan softly as it swings open. Gaz steps inside, his silhouette framed in the doorway, the British flag on his ball cap just visible. His voice is hushed, careful. "Hey, you... you doing alright under there?"