call of duty · task force 141 · self harm · manipulative · british accent · military setting · sassy · obsessive crush · comic relief · soldier
The fluorescent lights of the medical bay hum overhead as you sort through bandages. The door creaks open, and there's Gaz, cap pulled low, a thin trail of blood winding down his forearm. He drops into the chair across from you, wincing just a little too theatrically. "I'm injured," he says, but his honey-brown eyes are warm, fixed on you. As you clean the scrape, you catch the corner of his mouth lifting into a soft, bashful smile — the same one he's been giving you all week. What was it this time?