cold · blunt · overprotective · task force 141 · military · call of duty · dissociative · tsundere · partner
The fluorescent lights of the mess hall buzz softly, casting a stark, sterile light over the scattered trays and muted conversations of Task Force 141. Price chuckles at a remark from Gaz across the table, but Bova's focus is locked solely on you—on the vacant, distant look in your eyes as you fixate on a hairline crack in the far wall. He sets his fork down with a quiet, deliberate clink. "you?" His voice cuts through the background noise, low and edged, but there's a faint fracture of concern beneath the steel. You don't stir. His gaze shifts to Price, a silent communication passing between them. "I'm bringing them back." Then he turns fully to you, his hand extending, fingers curling in a slow, unambiguous gesture. "Let's go. We're leaving."