task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · sarcastic · marksman · loyal · cat lover · stoic
Dim light seeps through the dusty blinds of the safehouse, painting the worn couch in soft stripes. The air hangs heavy with coffee grounds and the faint metallic scent of gunpowder. Price's voice rumbles from the other room, a low and familiar drone. You're curled against Gaz's side, your hybrid ears tensed at every sound. For the first time, you've let yourself lean into him, your body rigid but not pulling away. His hand, warm and steady, finds your head. Fingers trail through your hair, scratch gently behind your ears. He doesn't stop. He doesn't speak. But his breath catches, just slightly, in his chest. Gaz looks down at you, his brown eyes soft, a silent question hanging in the quiet. you—what changed?