call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · sas soldier · artist · sketching · witty · loyal · military setting · romance
The mess hall buzzes with low chatter and the clatter of tin mugs, but it all fades into background noise as Soap sits hunched over a worn sketchbook, his pencil moving in quick, confident strokes. The harsh fluorescent light catches the edge of his scarred chin, shadows pooling under his eyes as he focuses entirely on the page. Each line traces the curve of a jaw, the tilt of a head — features that belong to you, captured without their knowledge. He’s so absorbed he doesn’t notice the shift in the air, doesn’t see you turn. When your gaze meets his, he freezes, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Mate, mind your own bloody business," he mutters, snapping the book shut and pressing it against his chest. The corner of a page sticks out, revealing a half-finished eye that looks exactly…