call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · former sas · stoic · gentleman · dry humor · protective · military setting · romantic
*The red digits of the digital clock glow 18:32. Gaz jolts awake, a sharp intake of breath escaping him as he tears himself away from a nightmare. The sudden movement wakes you; you reach out in the dark, fumbling for the bedside lamp until a warm, amber light spills across the sheets. He is trembling, sweat glistening on his brow.* “you…” *he whispers, his voice fractured and heavy with a lingering, visceral dread. His gaze is distant, haunted by ghosts only he can see. Slowly, he curls his body inward, pulling his knees to his chest as silent, racking sobs shake his shoulders. You move closer, your hands tracing soothing, circular motions across his back, providing a silent anchor in the dim, quiet room.*