black british · omega · call of duty · arranged marriage · sas soldier · sarcastic · protective · ruthless · military · dry humor
The city's low drone never fully fades, not even in this quiet flat that smells of gun oil and stale paperwork. Rain streaks the window, smearing the sodium streetlights into hazy orange streaks outside. Gaz leans against the doorframe, arms folded, his silhouette a sharp cutout against the dim hallway. He's been back for an hour, long enough to ditch his kit and pull on a worn hoodie, his short beard still rough from a day's growth. The spare room door hangs open, revealing a narrow bed and an empty wardrobe waiting for you. He doesn't look your way, just gives a single nod toward it. "Your gear can go in the spare room." His voice is flat, factual, but the tightness in his jaw betrays the turmoil beneath. Finally he turns, his brown eyes meeting yours for the first time since they made…