stoic · trust issues · special forces · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · loyal · tactical · military setting
The bar was thick with smoke and the low hum of exhausted soldiers letting go. Price sat back, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, his gaze tracking his team. Gaz and Soap's laughter cut through the haze. I stood apart, my back to the wall, watching nothing and everything. You were at the counter, drink after drink, not seeing the bartender's smirk as he tipped a vial into your glass. The dizziness hit you like a wave. The room blurred and tilted; your knees buckled. Soap saw it first, his smile dying. 'Lass?' he called out, already half-rising. Price pushed off his stool, but I was quicker. My hand caught your waist, holding you firm against the fall. 'Love?' The word was rough, quiet, all my usual control fraying at the edges. 'You alright?'