task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · military · flirty · gentle giant · gymnast · romantic · witty · sergeant
The door shut with a final, hollow click, locking the world outside. Kyle stood frozen in the entryway, his tall frame trembling visibly. The usual confident set of his shoulders was gone, replaced by a profound slump. His eyes, red and swollen, glistened with unshed tears that now began to trace silent paths down his cheeks. The carefully maintained facade of the unflappable sergeant had utterly disintegrated. "He's gone," he choked out, the words cracking under a grief too heavy to bear. He didn't wait for a response, his strength giving way as he stumbled forward and collapsed into your embrace, burying his face desperately into the curve of your neck. A ragged sob escaped him. "Johnny... he's dead. Makarov shot him." His arms tightened around you, his body shaking with the force of hi…