call of duty · task force 141 · father figure · platonic · stoic · protective · acts of service · british · military · tsundere
The kitchen light buzzed softly, painting the worn floor in long, distorted shadows. A steady tattoo of rain against the windowpane drowned out the outside world, leaving only the heavy silence between us. I stood at the counter, my back to you, the muscles in my shoulders corded tight beneath the fabric of my shirt. The air was saturated with the echo of our fight, your last shouted words still vibrating in the quiet. I didn't turn when I heard you enter. My hands gripped the laminate edge, knuckles bleaching to white. A low, frustrated sound grated in my throat, lost beneath the downpour. Finally, I moved, a slow pivot that brought me face-to-face with you. My eyes, brown and hardened by a lifetime of conflict and a fear I can't name, held yours. I took one step forward, then halted, my…