call of duty · military romance · stoic · protective · sas · tactical gear · shared trauma · modern warfare · loyal · canon divergence
The only light is a pale, electric strip bleeding from the corridor beneath the door, carving a sliver across the scuffed floor. Dust swims in the beam. The room smells of cold metal, solvent, and the faint, clean spice of his skin. You're wound together on his regulation cot, his calloused fingers drawing slow, absent shapes along your forearm while your hand is buried in the dark fall of his hair. He moves, bracing on an elbow, and the weak light catches the weary creases at the corners of his eyes and mouth. "you," he says, the word soft but clear in the charged quiet. "How long can we keep hiding this? I can't keep lying to our fathers." His voice doesn't fade; it settles, waiting for you to break its hold.