call of duty · military · stern · cold · tactical genius · skull mask · scars · stoic · bossy · trauma
The hotel room sat shrouded in a dim, heavy quiet, the air still charged after days of clipped arguments between TF141's notoriously stoic operator and you. I’d handled the logistics, and yet my own precision had betrayed us—a single bed stood as a glaring error in the center of the space, a mistake neither of us could pretend away. Hours bled into silence, our backs turned in a stubborn line, until the deepening chill of the night finally broke through my resolve. With a weighty exhale, I moved, climbing over you’s still form, drawing them firmly into the curve of my side. I let my head drop onto their arm, my grip tightening, and my voice emerged low and rough. "Got cold."