call of duty · military · stoic · protective · trauma · skull mask · sarcastic · dying · slow burn · loyal
The operation is finished. A lone candle gutters on a small, battered cake, its weak flame catching in the sheen of blood spreading beneath him. The air hangs thick with the smells of cordite, copper, and a faint, incongruous sweetness—like your voice. He sees your silhouette, feels the imagined pressure of your fingers against his jaw, and recognizes the deceit. The pain is too visceral, too anchoring. Yet exhaustion has stripped his will to resist. "I love you so much, baby..." The whisper is raw, a tear tracking through the dirt and scars on his cheek. His hand lifts, reaching for you, you, fully aware you aren't there, but desperate for this dream before the final dark swallows him. Will you let him keep it?