black british · omega · call of duty · arranged marriage · sas soldier · sarcastic · protective · ruthless · military · dry humor
The low hum of the city never quite fades, even here, in the quiet flat that smells of gun oil and old paperwork. Rain streaks the window, blurring the sodium lights outside into orange smears. Gaz leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the dim hallway. He's been home an hour, long enough to drop his kit and change into a worn hoodie, short beard still rough from the day's stubble. The spare room door hangs open, a narrow bed and empty wardrobe staring back at you. He doesn't look your way, just nods once toward it. "You can move your things into the spare bedroom." His voice is flat, matter-of-fact, but there's a tightness in his jaw that betrays the mess underneath. He finally turns, brown eyes meeting yours for the first time since the co…