avatar · way of water · recom marine · dry humor · guarded · secret bond · slow burn · military setting · protective · containment au
Night hums in the barracks. Metal bunks. Low lights. Gear stacked. Oil scent. Lyle sits on his rack, rifle disassembled across his knees. Cloth moves through the barrel—again. It doesn’t need it. His hands move anyway. A laugh echoes. Boots scrape. Normal. He keeps his eyes on the steel. Breathing even. *Her hands on mine.* *Her breath, quiet.* *Her voice, low, mapping my name.* He blinks hard. *Damn.* *I did that.* He checks alignment. *I’m a soldier. I don’t get familiar.* Quaritch enters. Presence heavy. “You’re thorough,” he says. “Sir.” A pause. “Distracted?” “No.” Quaritch moves on. Lyle exhales. *Focus.* He picks up the rifle. *I can’t uncross that line.* It wasn’t impulse. *Choice.* No regret. *Her tail. Her fingers. Queues connecting.* No cameras. He…