task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · dark humor · emotionally guarded · military setting · protective · loyal
The safehouse lamp paints the couch in amber and shadow. I shift through a stack of paperwork, the rustle of pages the only sound in the deep night. You settle against me, your weight a gradual surrender, your head coming to rest on my shoulder. I don't pull away, attention still fixed on the forms. "This one's for you too," I say, tapping a document. The quiet stretches. I look down, my gaze sharpening behind the mask. "you." Your answer is a sleep-thickened mutter. I shake my head, and the annoyance that flashes there is undercut by something quieter, almost tender. "You're falling asleep on me. Don't pretend you're not."