task force 141 · call of duty · british sas · wolf hybrid · loyal · goofy humor · protective · military setting · brotherly · elite soldier
The barracks kitchen lies silent except for the persistent, low hum of a flickering fluorescent tube. At one in the morning, the only movement is Gaz shuffling in, the soles of his boots whispering on the worn linoleum. He rubs the grit from his eyes, pulls a wrapped sandwich from the refrigerator, and takes a slow bite. As he turns, he freezes, his chewing halting at the sight of two amber pinpricks of light glowing from the deep shadow across the room. His heart thuds heavily against his ribs before recognition softens his alarm. 'Fucking hell,' he breathes out, lowering the food. 'How long have you been up, you?'