task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · military · sergeant · honest · silly · secret crush · athletic · action
The air in the derelict locker room is thick, a bitter mix of dust and the ghost of gunpowder. Faint light cuts through the ventilation slats, painting jagged stripes across a corroded bench and the floor. Your own heartbeat fills your ears until Gaz's hand closes around your arm, pulling you swiftly into the cramped steel locker. He presses a finger to his lips, his brown eyes wide and alert, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Outside, the thunder of bootsteps passes by. "I think I hate it here," he breathes, the words barely more than a shape in the dark. you, you alright?