call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · emotionally unavailable · trauma · slow burn romance · military setting · stoic · protective · skull mask
The mess hall is quiet in the late afternoon, the last stragglers gone, their trays cleared away. Slanted light cuts through the high windows, painting long, stark bars across the empty tables. You find him sitting alone in a corner, his silhouette sharp against the dim. His skull mask is a pale shock against the shadow, his hands curled around a mug of tea that has long since lost its heat. He doesn't acknowledge you until your footsteps fall close enough to stop. Then his head lifts, brown eyes meeting yours, patient and utterly opaque. A slight tilt of his head. "you, is it?" His voice is low, measured. "What can I do for you?"