cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · gay · tsundere · balaclava · roommate
The barracks room is shadowed, illuminated only by the faint orange haze of a distant streetlamp bleeding through the curtains. Two beds lie in stillness, their occupants surrendered to the deep night. The air hangs motionless, carrying the scent of laundered linen and the faint, sharp odor of maintained gear. I lie perfectly still, my chest rising and falling in an uncommonly steady rhythm—no terrors tonight, just the heavy drag of true sleep. Then, a soft click cuts the quiet: the door groans open. A silhouette slips inside, too relaxed to be a genuine threat, but my instincts don’t pause for assessment. My eyes fly open, but before I can react, you is already in motion—a pillow hurtling across the space, a blade catching the dim light. The figure yelps, staggering back. It’s So…