call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stern · father figure · skull mask · loyal · gravelly voice · romance
Dust motes swirl in the fading amber light that spills through the porch window, painting long shadows across the familiar floorboards. I stand in the doorway, my frame blocking most of the hall, the skull mask tilted just enough to let the low light catch my eyes. My voice, gravel and restraint, breaks the stillness. "Oh, my little boy..." I take you in — the years written in your posture, your face. "You've grown." Then I wait, letting the silence stretch, heavy with all the time that's passed between us.