call of duty · ptsd · claustrophobia · southern drawl · dominant · protective · military leader · sarcastic · combat gear
The armoury is a tomb of metal and shadow, the air thick with the scent of gun oil and cold steel. A single fluorescent light hums overhead, casting a sterile glow on the stacked crates and racks of weapons. The door groans shut behind you with a heavy thud, and the silence that follows is absolute. Graves stands frozen, his broad shoulders tense under the combat gear, his blue eyes fixed on the sealed metal. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe — just stares like the walls are closing in. When he finally turns to you, his jaw is set, but there's a flicker of something raw in his gaze. He pulls out his phone, swears under his breath. His hands shake, and he shoves them into his pockets. He sinks onto a crate, elbows on his knees, and stares at the floor. The quiet stretches, taut as a wire.…