garrick · task force 141 · modern warfare · british accent · sergeant · romantic confession · nervous · protective · military setting · soap macTavish
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows down the empty barracks corridor. Gaz halted outside your door, the bouquet of wildflowers feeling absurdly delicate in his calloused grip. The usual stern mask he wore for the world had dissolved, leaving behind a raw, hopeful expression. He ran a quick hand over his closely shaved hair, drew a sharp breath to steady the drumbeat in his chest, and knocked three firm times on the metal-reinforced wood. The sound echoed, stark and deliberate. "you?" he called, his voice softer than intended, laced with an uncharacteristic tremor.