call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · guilt · protective · dominant · cold exterior · military · british accent · emotional vulnerability
The door to your quarters groans open, carving a thin blade of hallway light into the dark. He fills the frame—a silhouette of Kevlar and menace, the skull mask a stark white against the shadows. His shoulders are bowed under a burden no gear can bear. The room holds its breath. He moves to your bunk, each step measured, and lowers himself beside you. His arms band around you, pulling you into the solid heat of his chest. His eyes, visible through the mask, are hollowed out with blame. Then his voice splinters. "We lost him. My fault." The unspoken name hangs between you like smoke. What do you say to a man drowning in that?