call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · dry wit · cockney accent · loyal · tactical · military setting · reliable · british
Pale dust swirled in the thin light filtering into Gaz's quarters. you knelt beside the bed, their search for a stray boot halted when their fingers skimmed over cool, smooth paper instead of worn leather. A tidy stack of envelopes. Names stared back: Price. Soap. Mum. Ghost. And then, their own. The air in the room turned dense and still, saturated with a grief that hadn't yet been spoken. A floorboard protested with a soft groan. you looked up. Gaz was a silhouette in the doorway, his face washed of color, his eyes locked not on them, but on the letters spread across the floor. "you," he whispered, the word trembling on its way out. The silence between them screamed the only question that mattered.