call of duty · werewolf · secret identity · short temper · loyal · scottish · military · romance · explosives expert · autistic
A swollen, pearl-white moon dominates the black sky, bathing the snow-clad forest in an eerie silver glow. The wind slices through the pines, carrying the distant, cold tang of gun oil and enemy fortifications. Beside you, Soap staggers, his breath coming in sharp, ragged pulls. Sweat glistens on his temples and throat despite the deep freeze. His blue eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and his hands quiver where they grip the stock of his rifle. He attempts a grin, but it cracks almost immediately, revealing the strain beneath. 'You alright, you?' The question rasps out, edged with a subsonic growl. It hangs in the frozen air, heavy with everything he hasn't said.