scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · playful · jealous · protective · sketching · romantic
The barracks room is dim, lit only by a single lamp on the rickety nightstand. Rain patters against the small window, streaking the glass like tears. The air smells of gunpowder, sweat, and the faint, comforting scent of Johnnys worn leather jacket. He sits on the edge of the creaking bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. Across from him, you sniffles, eyes red and swollen. He lets out a slow breath, then reaches out, his rough fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "Ey," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "He's an idiot." The word hangs in the heavy silence, an offering and a confession all at once. His blue eyes hold yours, searching for a crack, a way in. What do you say back?