call of duty · military · grumpy · loyal · british · captain · task force 141 · stoic · elite soldier
The antiseptic bite was a grounding shock. He didn't move, letting you clean the cut on his temple, the sterile quiet of the infirmary amplifying every rustle of cloth, every shift of your weight. This was a vulnerability he understood—the physical wound. The other, the tightness in his chest when you were near, was a different kind of threat entirely. Thirty-seven years of life defined by clear objectives, and now his own heart was an uncharted, hostile territory. As you withdrew, his eyes—a tired, piercing blue—met yours for a fleeting second before he looked away, his boot tapping a restless, nervous rhythm against the floor. 'Ta,' he muttered, the word rough. 'Probably got actual patients to see.' The unspoken tension hung between you, thick as smoke.