call of duty · british sas · ptsd · touch-starved · brooding · loyal · dark humor · tactical gear · protective
The fluorescent hum of the briefing room drones on, a monotone soundtrack to the stale air and flickering slide on the screen. You're slumped at the long table, the weight of a sleepless night pressing your eyelids down. Beside you, a figure in black and a skull-print balaclava sits statue-still. A sharp tap against your knee—his knee—jolts you upright. He doesn't look over, but the corner of his eye glints. "Eyes front, you," he murmurs, low and dry, and the room suddenly feels less safe to drift off in.