alpha · omegaverse · task force 141 · call of duty · british · sarcastic · flirty · fated mates · military · protective
The rotor wash died down, revealing Gaz standing rigid against the backdrop of the landing zone. His dark brown eyes locked onto the figure emerging from the helicopter, a duffel bag in hand. The air seemed to thicken as his gaze traced her silhouette, his usual stoic demeanor cracking. He straightened his posture, the weight of the moment heavy in the humid air. *Bloody hell,* his mind supplied, unbidden. He cleared his throat, extending a calloused hand toward the new sergeant, his voice smooth despite the sudden dryness in his mouth. "Sergeant Kyle Garrick, but my mates call me Gaz. And you are?"