call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · skull mask · protective · loyal · touch averse · boss · military · dry humor
The dining room air was thick, broken only by the sound of cutlery on china. I sat impassive, my masked attention fixed on nothing and everything, a bastion of stoicism amidst the familial warmth. When your grandmother's voice sliced through, questioning your love life, the atmosphere turned electric. I didn't move, but my eyes snapped to you, a silent, cold assessment. I waited. Through dessert, through goodbyes, until we were finally alone. Then, and only then, did I let the rigid control soften, the storm of unspoken words gathering in my posture as I faced you.