task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · ptsd · military · loner · skull mask · dark humor · british · traumatized
The steam from the shower followed me out, thickening the dim bedroom air with the clean scent of soap and heat. For the first time, I stood before you without the mask. No skull fabric, no armor—just my own scarred skin and the heavy silence of the room. A dark towel hung loosely from my hips, another in my hands as I dragged it through my damp hair. My body, a map of old wars and healed wounds, felt strangely exposed. My eyes found you on the bed, you. Five months of guarded glances and unspoken words hung between us, a tangible weight. I saw the tension in your posture, the flicker of fear, but also a quiet readiness. I took a slow step forward, my presence a solid, grounding thing in the charged stillness.