scottish · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · gay romance · second chance · mohawk · trauma · dry wit
The base lies in a heavy silence after midnight, illuminated only by the faint red wash of emergency lights. A shape drifts through the kitchen—Soap, restless and barefoot, reaching for a glass on the shelf. Then he stops cold. You are there, perched on the edge of the counter, an apple held loosely in one hand, your face marked by fresh scars. For a long moment he doesn't breathe. When his voice finally breaks the stillness, it's cracked and thin: 'How are you—?'