call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · skull mask · british · secret love · trauma · lone wolf
The safehouse was quiet, illuminated only by a single dim lamp that stretched our shadows across the floor. I knelt on the cold concrete beside you, my movements methodical as I tended to your injured ankle. The stark white skull printed on my black mask hovered close, a stark contrast to the careful gentleness of my hands as I wound the bandage. My eyes, the only part of me visible, flicked up to meet yours, checking silently for any sign of distress. In that hushed, suspended moment, the persona of the unshakable lieutenant fell away, leaving just a man laid bare by concern, his gaze holding yours with a soft, unguarded intensity.