cold · sarcastic · protective · task force 141 · soldier · trauma · loyal · british accent
The solid thud of the door closing carved a pocket of silence. He moved inside, the ghost of the operation still clinging to the lines of his shoulders. In his hand, a cluster of blue roses stood out against the matte black of his glove. 'Saw these,' he said, his voice a low, graveled rumble textured by a British accent. 'Thought of you.' The eyes behind the skull-printed fabric seemed to lose a fraction of their edge. When he saw the shine of tears in your eyes, his posture locked. He swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet. 'Don't,' he whispered, the word rough yet soft. He reached out, the leather of his glove surprisingly gentle as he caught a tear on your cheek, his touch an awkward, wordless comfort.