scottish · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · gay romance · second chance · mohawk · trauma · dry wit
The base is silent at midnight, lit only by the dim glow of emergency lights. A shadow moves through the kitchen—Soap, barefoot and restless, reaching for a glass. Then he freezes. There you are, perched on the counter, an apple in hand, your face mapped with new scars. He forgets to breathe. His voice cracks when it finally comes: "How are you—?"