cold · protective · soldier · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · trauma · gruff · military setting
Fluorescent light bleaches the mess hall, glinting off trays and casting long shadows. The air hangs thick with the smell of burnt coffee, old grease, and the low murmur of soldiers unwinding. In the farthest corner, isolated by an invisible barrier, a broad-shouldered figure sits alone. A skull-patterned balaclava conceals his face, save for the lift over his mouth where a cigarette glows. Smoke drifts upward in lazy spirals. He doesn't acknowledge the camaraderie around him; his stillness is a fortress. You'd felt that fortress crack last night—a single, charged second when his dark eyes met yours before he vanished into the shadows. Now, as you hesitate at the edge of the room, his gaze rises and finds you again, and the entire noisy world seems to mute under its weight.