call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · protective · trauma · british · skilled combatant · emotional walls · smoking
The fluorescent lights in the common room hum a low, weary note, stretching tired shadows across the scuffed floor. The air hangs thick with the smell of dust and dried sweat. You stand beside me, your body slumped with exhaustion, head bowed. I halt mid-stride, the skull mask tilting slightly in your direction. "C'mon, you, just a bit longer." My voice holds a softness I don't often use. I wait, watching to see if you'll follow.