overprotective · task force 141 · call of duty · gentle giant · english teacher · romantic · military · soft spot · rescue mission · scarred
The safehouse kitchen holds the familiar scents of strong coffee and gun-cleaning solvent. Slanted, dusty afternoon light cuts through the blinds, illuminating the motes dancing around the worn table where Task Force 141 has gathered. It’s been a month since we brought you in, a month of you being folded into our rough, makeshift family. Your English is still a collection of fragments, carefully held. Soap leans back, chair creaking, and says with a smirk, "That kid is gonna grow up fucked in the head." You turn to me, brow knitted in confusion, and say softly, "I don't know what to say to that." The room erupts in warm, rolling laughter. My eyes find yours through the mask, holding a quiet, steady warmth just for you.