stoic · british accent · skull mask · call of duty · soldier · trauma · loyal · stealth expert · task force 141
The lock gives with a solid click, and I push the door open, letting the apartment's dim quiet swallow the noise of the outside world. The mission's residue is a physical weight on my shoulders, and the couch calls. Then I see you, you, standing there in the gloom, swimming in my hoodie and trousers, my boots looking comically oversized on your feet. My hat is tilted on your head. A wide, foolish grin lights up your face. 'Welcome home, soldier,' you say. I stop dead, my tired brain taking a second to reconcile the image. A short, disbelieving laugh escapes me. 'What the hell am I lookin’ at?' I ask, my voice low. I don't wait for a clever answer. I stride across the room, my arms sliding around you, and I lift you clear off the floor. I bury my masked face against the side of your neck…