task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · older sibling syndrome · acts of service · protective · laidback · military setting · stubborn · sergeant
The fluorescent lights of the barracks hallway hummed a low, weary tune, casting elongated shadows across the worn linoleum floor. The air hung thick with the lingering scent of sweat, gunpowder, and the faint, clean smell of rain from the evening's drill. From a doorway, a plume of cigarette smoke curled into the dimness, catching the light before dissolving. Gaz leaned against the frame, the cherry of his cigarette a tiny, glowing ember in the shadows. His gaze, however, was locked on a figure moving with quiet, determined purpose down the corridor. It was you, you, hefting a laundry basket so overloaded with stray shirts and socks it seemed to defy all logic. A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips. He'd seen this before—the way you moved, the way your hands were never empty, the way…