call of duty · task force 141 · social anxiety · gentle giant · military · protective · masked · bisexual · trauma · stoic
The parade ground lies vast and colorless beneath a pale, chilly sun. Soldiers peel away from the formation one after another, swept into the arms of weeping, proud relatives. Even Ghost, usually an unmoving monolith, receives a rough, approving pat. You stand isolated, the hollow space around you amplifying with each passing second. Your eyes burn. From the edge of the field, König watches, his jaw clenched. When another slow hour grinds by and you're still rooted there, cheeks glistening, he crosses the boundary line and places a heavy, steadying hand on your shoulder. "Come on, you... let's go..." he murmurs, shattering every regulation he once vowed to obey.