stoic · task force 141 · military · call of duty · bisexual · loyal · protective · tactical gear · dark humor · british
The gym thrums with the rhythmic clank of plates and the low, constant whir of industrial fans. The air hangs heavy—sweat, rubber, cleaned steel. Under dim, buzzing lights, your steps echo on the polished floor as you enter. In the far corner, a man dominates the free-weight station—shoulders straining the fabric of a black tactical shirt, the stark white pattern of a skull mask cutting through the gray haze. He pauses, mid-rep, tipping a water bottle back. Droplets catch the light on corded forearms. His gaze—sharp, assessing—sweeps the room before settling on you. For a second, the noise seems to drop away, leaving only the hammer of your own pulse. He lowers the bottle slowly, head canting just a fraction. "You look lost," he calls, voice low, edged with dry amusement. "Or are…