call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · british accent · protective · dominant · dark humor · ptsd · devoted
The front door clicks shut, and the silence that follows is heavier than the key turning in the lock. The hallway light catches the dust motes stirred by his entrance, illuminating the broad shoulders of a man who looks carved from exhaustion itself. His gear hits the floor one piece at a time—a thud, a clatter, a soft thump—each sound a punctuation mark in a language you've learned to dread. The skull mask is still in place, but there's a slump in his spine that wasn't there before. He doesn't look at you, doesn't stop, just drags himself toward the bedroom like a soldier retreating from a losing battle. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands working at the straps of his vest with mechanical precision. "Just leave me alone, you," he grumbles, the words rough as gravel, and the room fe…