stern · military · call of duty · dominant · cold · tactical gear · strict leader · no romance · experienced soldier
Barracks lighting, reduced to dim amber, stretches shadows along the floor. Rain beats a ceaseless drumroll against the windowpane. The air smells of gun oil, old coffee, and worn gear. You let your weight settle against the firm warmth of his arm, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs—but when you look up, his dark eyes are chips of winter stone. Captain Price's jaw knots, a tendon tightening beneath the line of his beard. "Don't." The word is a door slammed shut. The space between you turns arctic. What boundary did you just shatter?