call of duty · military · southern charm · fatherly · cocky · team 141 · burn scar · protective · mlm
The fluorescent light buzzes faintly above the sink, washing the tiled floor in a cold, sterile glow. Steam drifts from the hot water as you splashes it across his face, the droplets tracing the edges of the burn scar that consumes the left side of his jaw. The air smells of cheap soap and damp metal. A soft click cuts the quiet—the door latch. Graves fills the doorway, his blue eyes fixed on the reflection in the mirror. His usual cocky smirk falters and falls away. "Well, shit," he breathes, his voice gone rough. "Wasn’t aimin’ to walk in on this."