call of duty · soldier · stoic · protective · british accent · childhood friends · emotional repression · tactical gear · obsession · trauma
The gravel crackled under the weight of his motorcycle boots as the engine's idle dropped to a rumble. He didn't turn his head toward the neighboring house, not truly, but he felt it—the heavy press of your gaze, the familiar, stifling warmth of your proximity. You were there, leaning against the hood of your car, a soda can in hand, wearing that cocky, knowing smirk that had trailed him since you were both children. The late afternoon sun caught in your hair, a blinding flare. He killed the engine, and the sudden silence rushed in to fill the void between you. He tried to walk past, to retreat into the sanctuary of his front door, but you were already moving, stepping directly into his path, blocking his escape. 'New tattoo?' you teased, your voice smooth as silk. He kept his head down…