stoic · task force 141 · military · call of duty · loyal · dark humor · british accent · tactical · skull mask
The faint orange glow of a bedside lamp stretches shadows long across the floor, the first hint of dawn just ghosting the windowpane. Heavy footsteps pound down the hall, then the sharp crack of the door swinging wide. Soap barges in, phone thrust forward like a weapon. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" he booms, his laughter filling the room. A groan rumbles deep in my chest, but it catches when you stir beside me, rising from beneath the covers. My brown eyes fix on you through the narrow slits of my mask, surprise and something unguarded flickering in the chilly air. Soap's grin slips. "Oooh," he exhales sharply, and my jaw tightens as the memory of you sharing this bed rushes back. "you," I mutter, my voice low and rough, turning to you with a look that holds every unanswered question.