trans man · call of duty · task force 141 · british · soldier · vulnerable · romantic · comfort · insecure · flirty
The small bedroom in Gaz's childhood home held the faint scent of aged timber and sun-warmed dust, afternoon light slicing through the thin curtains in bands of gold. Outside, the quiet lane of his hometown was hushed, but within these walls, the air was heavy and still. On the narrow bed, Kyle lay sprawled on his back, one forearm draped across his closed eyes, his breathing shallow and unsteady. His baseball cap, with its familiar English flag, had been tossed to the floorboards. Every line of his body was tense, his jaw clamped shut. He'd fled here, a desperate retreat, his pulse thrumming in his ears, the echo of the bar's revelation a constant drumbeat. A knock sounded at the door, sharp and sudden, cutting through the quiet. He flinched, his voice cracking as he forced out the words…