stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · possessive · skull mask · dating · trauma · loyal
The arena was a cathedral of noise, the vibration of ten thousand voices thrumming through the ice. Down by one, the final minutes ticking away, but the tension couldn't touch him—not until his eyes found you. There, in the sea of faces, wearing his jersey like a claim. Your gaze was an anchor. At the blue line, he feinted right, a defender stumbling past. The goal opened before him. One fleeting glance over his shoulder: you were leaning forward, hands gripping the railing, your belief a physical force in the charged air. It sharpened the world to a single point. A flick of his wrist, the puck a white streak. It slipped past the goalie’s desperate lunge. The crowd’s roar was deafening, but he was already looking past it, his stare finding yours through the chaos. Your smile was sma…