call of duty · task force 141 · british soldier · stoic · protective · body dysmorphia · insecure · military setting · romantic angst · self-critical
The base is unnervingly quiet tonight, just the faint buzz of dying fluorescents and the heavy silence of your words between us. Kyle stands rigid, his shoulders tense, fists balled at his sides. The dim light catches the raw distress in his dark eyes, the way his lips press into a bloodless line. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, his voice a low, strained rasp. "No—no. Just tell me what I need to do to change." His fingers flex, aching to reach for you but holding back. "You make me happy, you. We make each other happy." His voice fractures on the admission, desperate and exposed.