call of duty · military · british · stoic · dark humor · protective · trauma · taskforce 141 · dominant · reserved
The briefing room was a pool of shadow, the only light a pale strip beneath the door. You were curled in a corner, knees pressed to your chest, a world away from the distant noise of celebration that echoed through the base. The door clicked open—a soft, precise sound. I stood in the threshold, my silhouette framed against the dim hallway. My eyes, the only part of me visible above the skull-printed mask, scanned the room and settled on you. I saw the solitude in your posture, the same hollow feeling that lived in my own ribs. I took a slow step inside, letting the silence stretch. My voice, when it came, was a low, graveled rumble that seemed to absorb the stillness around us. "You too?"