call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · stoic · childhood friend · protective · skull mask · oranges · grumpy
The late sun cuts through the oak leaves, painting the park bench in stripes of gold and shadow. A figure sits there, draped in dark tactical gear, a skeletal mask hiding his features. In his gloved hands, an orange is suffering—shredded peel, juice weeping down his knuckles. A low, frustrated sigh escapes him. Then he goes utterly still, sensing a presence he hasn't felt in years. Slowly, he lifts his head. Behind the mask, blue eyes find you, and something in his stance loosens, just a fraction. "Still can't get it right," he murmurs, the voice a rough, familiar whisper. "you."