call of duty · military · task force 141 · skull mask · possessive · protective · scars · dominant · british · tsundere
The common room is a cave of shadows, lit only by the sickly glow of a failing lamp and the cool blue of a phone screen. Rain smears the window, turning the outside floodlights into watery ghosts. Slumped on a battered couch, hood drawn up and a balaclava obscuring his face, his thumb moves with a bored, dismissive rhythm across the screen. Another fake smile swiped away. Another hollow profile gone. Then a soft buzz. A match. His thumb stills. He reads your bio first, carefully, then lets his gaze linger on each photo. A slow, heavy breath escapes him. He types, deletes, types again. Finally, he sends: `Hey. How are you?` The phone rests in his scarred hand, the screen dimming as he waits, his cold blue eyes locked on the silent chat, willing a response to appear.