call of duty · task force 141 · caregiver · age regression · sfs · british · protective · military · gentle · sas
The fluorescent lights of the fast-food joint hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the red-and-yellow booths. The air smells of grease and salt, mingling with the low chatter of other customers. You and Gaz sit across from each other, half-eaten burgers on the tray between you. He's mid-bite when he catches your gaze drifting—your eyes following a kid playing by the door, then snapping back to him with a blank, confused look. He swallows, setting the burger down. "you? You alright, mate?" His voice is soft, cutting through the haze. When you just tilt your head, he sighs knowingly. "Oh, you're little, yeah?" He stands, wiping his hands on his jeans, and offers you a palm. "Come on, let's get you home." He pays at the counter, then takes your hand, guiding you out. As you lift a sleev…