#wildzuss

[glendylucast]

Mandatory WildZuss drawing until there is a sequel of WW2, which means never 🤭

One of these days, I’ll be happy on just doing headshots so I can put more energy into improving my coloring.

[glendylucast]

"Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you with every single thing I have Like a tidal wave, I'll make a mess Or calm waters, if that serves you best I will love you without any strings attached"

----- Sleeping At Last - Two

Yes, Drawfee references!

For the longest time I've been obsessed with Karina's take on the Painting Redraw, how she turned "Dante & Virgil" into something entirely unique and beautiful just blows my mind.

Naturally, I stole the "your blorbos kissing behind the fountain at night" concept for mine! I always wanted to redraw her piece and now I have the characters and excuses to do it! Lol

Oh... This pic? It's Zussman and Wildblood sneaking away from a fancy dinner invitation in Austria (or somewhere idk) to steal some moment together. (Yes, they're travelling the world together after WW2)

[glendylucast]

Sneak Peek!

(Probably) for my entry in the COD Fanfic collaboration on Twitter.

Originally, I just wanted to make a few illustrations for my fic, but this might end up as a manhwa-style comic instead lol

I love my blorbosssss

Hopefully I can consistent enough to finish this.

And... yes,,, it's this song.

[glendylucast]

Call of Duty WWII OC : Clifford "Brick" Wildblood

Born in 1921, Clifford enlisted at the age of 23 after leaving behind his coal mining family business. Stoic and not one for small talk, hence he earned the nickname "Brick" during basic training. He served with the U.S. Army’s 1st Infantry Division before being captured by the Germans and sent to a concentration camp, where he crossed paths with Robert Zussman—his squadmate and arguably his least favorite person in the entire division. Their time together in hell changed everything he ever believe.

GENERAL

Name : Clifford Arden Wildblood

Alias : Brick

Gender : Male

Birthday : October 2nd

Place of birth : Bloomington, Illinois, US

Nationality : US - British

Spoken language(s) : English

Sexuality : Bisexual

Occupation : Mechanic on coal mining (pre WWII), enlisted soldier (WWII), Blacksmith on Chicago (after WWII)

PHYSICAL TRAITS

Eye color : Light Brown

Hair color : Black, but his hair started turning grey early due to the immense stress and malnourished during his time in the concentration camp

Height : 6’0” / 185 cm

Build : Lean (WWII era), Muscular (After WWII)

Blood type : O+

Fan Cast/Face Claim : Tom Hardy

This man looks amazing with or without beard I love him so much

PERSONALITY

Myers-Briggs Type: INTJ-T

Skilled Combatant: Growing up working in mines and hunting with his family sharpened Wildblood’s instincts and abilities, giving him a strong physics and mental for military life. This helped him excel at training camp, eventually becoming a skilled soldier and formidable fighter in 1st Infantry.

Direct and Blunt: Wildblood dislike small talk. He prefers a straightforward, no-nonsense approach with those around him. While his straightforward style is often efficient, it can come across as harsh to more sensitive comrades.

Mechanical and Explosive Expertise: Wildblood’s time working in his grandfather’s coal mine in Illinois gave him an extensive understanding of machinery and explosives. His experience as a blacksmith also enhanced these practical skills, which now serve him well in the battlefield.

Overly Independent: Though Wildblood is a reliable team player, he has a fierce independent nature and often prefers to rely on himself. This can sometimes cause him to push others away.

Emotionally Distant: Raised by a father who emphasized masculinity and toughness, Wildblood struggles to express or talk about emotions. For him, showing vulnerability is a sign of weakness, making it difficult to open up or show affection to others.

BACKSTORY

Early Life

Born on October 2, 1921, in Bloomington, Illinois, USA. His father was originally from England, while his mother was from Bloomington, Illinois. Two years after he was born, their family moved to England where he spent most of his childhood.

He had a typical childhood in a loving family in London, England, that frequently traveled to the US, which left him with a British accent that slips out (especially when he's upset). He has a sister, Ciara Godwyn Wildblood, that born five years after him.

Later, he spent the rest of his high school years in Illinois after his father inherited the family’s coal mining business. He usually helped there after school and eventually works there as a mechanics instead of going to college.

His family strongly opposed his decision to enlist in the military. Initially, he stayed home, but at 23, he ran away and enlisted anyway, going so far as to forge his father’s signature with the help of his sister.

Growing up working in mines and hunting with his family sharpened Wildblood’s instincts and abilities, giving him a strong physics and mental for military life. This helped him excel at training camp.

WWII Campaign

He maintained a direct and blunt relationship in the First Infantry, at first no one likes him but he quickly becoming one of the most formidable soldiers in the First Platoon. He was one of the rare few who Sgt. William Pierson's like. He also become Lt. Joseph Turner's first choice to lead his own squad.

Wildblood was the oldest in his squad. His team knew behind his stoicness he is actually an overly caring person and dependable figure, thus the nickname "Brick" came for him.

Little Trivia but Wildblood was born because I need someone to keep an eye on Zussman. I don't want him to be Daniels' homewrecker because on my latest revisit playthrough I really like Daniels and Hazel.

Initially, Wildblood never like Zussman, but he always kept a quiet eye on him throughout the campaign. He couldn’t stand Zussman’s troublemaking nature or his habit of antagonizing Pierson, someone Wildblood deeply respected.

Fate brought them closer when both were captured and imprisoned in a concentration camp, where they watched comrades die at the hands of the Germans. Together, they did whatever was necessary to survive, clinging to each other to maintain their sanity and avoid feeling alone.

They were eventually separated when the Germans transferred prisoners to different camps, moving them constantly to evade the advancing Allied forces. Daniels’ squad found the camp that had detained Wildblood, and it was Wildblood who gave them the critical direction to locate Zussman. Wildblood was rescued by the U.S. Army, malnourished, with broken ribs and a limp, but he survived.

Weeks later, Daniels’ squad finally located and saved Zussman. When Wildblood heard the good news, he couldn’t hold back his tears.

After World War II end, few hours after Daniels said his farewells to Zussman, Wildblood visited him and insisted that he wouldn’t return home until Zussman was fully recovered. He refusing to leave Zussman’s side and promised never to leave him alone again.

Aftermath

A few weeks later, after Zussman convinced him that he was healthy enough to return to Chicago, they both going home to US. They separated ways as Wildblood moved back to Bloomington. For a year, the two exchanged letters.

After hearing that Zussman was no longer with Susie and was single for a while. Wildblood decided to move to Chicago to be closer to Zussman, working there as a blacksmith on local workshop.

They both become close and then, closer...

1940s was a hard time for being "different", you know

After three years in a secret relationship and saving enough money, Wildblood and Zussman decided to travel the world together. Their journey began with a visit to Daniels’ family in Texas.

They never told anyone about their relationship, maintaining a casual front whenever they were around others. However, Zussman’s best friend, Daniels, could easily tell that there was more between them than just friendship.

Still, Daniels chose to keep their secret to himself, letting the world figure it out on its own—if it ever did.

Thus, from Texas, Wildblood and Zussman set off to explore the country, then the world, travelling side by side.

Yes they're bestfiend

TRIVIA

He prefers a buzzcut because I hate drawing complex hairstyles, lol.

His Surname originally Wyldeblode, another variation of the name "Wildblood", but on the second thought I think the literal "Wildblood" is cooler, so I chose it.

His permanent early grey hair inspired by Guts (obviously) and Motaz Azaiza, journalist from Gaza, Palestine (massive respect, that talks about his hair greying already before he even reach 25yo still haunts me.)

He's an excellent violinist because he was obsessed with Sherlock Holmes's back in high school and learned violin because of that.

In high school, he also actively played football (not American Football) as a goalkeeper and was quite skilled at it.

Both he and his father hated how Americans referred football as "soccer," since they were originally from the UK.

He has sopite syndrome, a condition that makes him easily fall asleep in cars, trains, or any moving vehicle. Because of this, Zussman usually takes the wheel during their travels. (Wildblood never knew this habit of his was neurological disorder.)

One time he slept standing on the moving truck, and the whole platoon talks about this from time to time.

He had a deep fascination with dinosaurs and once considered studying paleontology, but family obligations and WWII derailed that plan. As a result, his apartment is now filled with dinosaur woodcrafts and doodles he made himself on downtime.

Despite having pollen allergies, he has no trouble working with woodcraft.

After WWII, He loves drinking Baileys because it reminded him of his late best friend.

Speaking of last trivia, Wildblood once believed he had schizophrenia after Baileys' death, as he kept seeing him everywhere. But after months in psychotherapy, he discovered he actually had hyperfantasia—the ability to visualize with such intensity that it felt real, it become in the room with him. It turned out Baileys wasn’t haunting him, nor was he losing his mind; Wildblood had subconsciously projected Baileys' to stay with him everywhere because he was lonely, something he didn't want to admit,

This hyperfantasia was also the reason Wildblood could precisely set up explosives and remember complex maps or blueprints during WWII, or sculpt dinosaurs and his squads from memory without references after the war.

"Baileys’ ghost" no longer haunted him after he delivered Baileys' diary to his family, and he stayed with Zussman.

Ironically, has a descendant who later joins Vladimir Makarov and works with the Konni Group. This accident happened when Wildblood and Zussman travelling Russia together.

---------------

Will be updated as I draw and write his story!

[glendylucast]

Me every time: “Let’s just draw a headshot; it’ll be quicker, and I can focus on improving my coloring.”

Also me: “Let’s draw a detailed background to show the boys traveling the world!”

Also me : "Let's make a whole manhwa-ass comic pages instead of writing their story or make simple headshot like normal person would"

All of these pages just to say "Wildblood fell first, but Zussman fell harder"

[glendylucast]

"The car was stuck, the engine stalled And both of us got caught out in the snow, alone There were times when I forget the lows And think the highs were all that we'd ever known The cards were stacked against us both

I will always love you for what it's worth We'll never fade like graffiti on the overpass And I know time may change the way you think of us But I'll remember the way we were You were the first full-stop love that will never leave Baby, you will never be lost on me"

Ed Sheeran - Overpass Grafitti

I know this song is about unforgettable broken up but shut up it's so them coded.

This scene takes place on their way to Longview, Texas, to celebrate Christmas with Daniels' family. I always wanted to draw them camping out in the car due to a small setback—maybe running out of fuel or getting lost along the way.

This song inspired me to rework it because it makes so much more sense (I can’t believe I didn’t think of a snowstorm—that’s such a great idea!)

Rewriting it is, for now have this sketch!

[glendylucast]

Our Shelter

Prologue - 962 words

(Play this song as a backsound for mood booster, if you want to)

Chicago, United States, November 1948

The wind howled down the narrow streets of Chicago, sweeping autumn leaves across the sidewalk in sharp spirals. The biting chill of an approaching winter clung to the air. Clifford "Brick" Wildblood climbed the dusty stairs of an old apartment building. The third-floor landing was warmly lit with yellow lightbulb. The doors were all looks the same in this long hallway, but Wildblood knew the place like the back of his hand.

He reached the door he had knocked on countless times before and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

“Goddamnit, stop knocking and come in already!” a familiar voice shouted from inside.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Wildblood’s lips. He took a worn key from his pocket, slid it into the lock and swung the door. He stepped inside, the scent of new tobacco and freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. After hanging the scarf and draping his jacket over the holder, he glanced around the cozy space.

"You know I don't want to come in here and catch you in the middle of the act with someone like last time," Wildblood teased, walking toward the couch. "I've had enough of seeing your ass."

From the back room, Robert Zussman stepped out, chuckling as he adjusted his cuffs. "That was eight months ago, Cliff. Can you let it slide already?" He paused and raised an eyebrow. "And seriously? You've had enough?"

Wildblood turned to look at him. Zussman was looking sharp, hair slicked back, dressed to the nines in a crisp navy suit. The tie was perfectly matched along the arctic vest that hugged his body with a tailor’s precision. His trousers were impeccable, the kind of fabric that spoke of a man who knew his way around money, or at least wanted to give that impression.

"How do I look?" Zussman asked, half-smirking, knowing full well the effect he had.

Jesus Lord... Wildblood whispered on his mind, staring without blinking.

Zussman tilted his head, clearly waiting for a response.

Wildblood felt his mouth go dry for a second, but he quickly covered it up with a laid-back comment. “You look like some cheap gigolo from Boston,” he drawled.

Zussman laughed, flipping him off with practiced nonchalance. "Hey, fuck you."

They both broke into laughter, the tension breaking like a dam, letting old memories and quiet affection fill the air. Zussman knew. Wildblood had been staring, and not for the first time. It was the same look he’d given him in that French camp all those years ago, the one he never spoke about anymore. A look that burned deep, hidden behind cold distances and agony in battlefield.

With a smile on his lips, Zussman glanced back. Now that he thought of it, it was all so obvious. Wildblood never really hate him. He just never being honest with his own feeling.

But everything has changed now.

"You know you look amazing in everything," Wildblood admitted, finally, though he tried to sound begrudging. "I hate that about you."

"I know," Zussman adjusted his tie with a cocky grin. "And I love that you hate everything about me."

As Zussman fastened his cufflinks, Wildblood sat on the couch, his legs stretched out, looking every bit like the weight of the world was finally off his shoulders. The world outside could go on hating, judging, never understanding. But in this apartment, things were simple. Here, in the small moments they stole from the world, there was no past, no war, no guilt, no judgement.

“You seriously made a reservation at this fancy restaurant six months ago without telling me?” Zussman asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “You do remember we’re saving for the big plan, right?”

“Come on, it’s just a little bit of bonus from my client!" Wildblood smirked, looking pleased with himself. "Besides, you’ve gotta try this steak. The meat is heavenly.”

“You said they feed those poor cows two bottle of wine every day, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t they get drunk and wreak havoc on the ranch?”

“Robert, they’re cows. They don’t get drunk," Wildblood chuckled, shaking his head. "Not like you, anyway.”

“Hey, I can handle my drinks just fine,” Zussman shot back, pretending to be offended. "Unlike someone. Remember last Christmas?"

“Yeah, yeah…” Wildblood grinned, sinking further into the couch. "You win."

"So, when are we supposed to be at this restaurant?" Zussman asked, grabbing his watch from the small table. "I'm driving today, no question asked, all right?"

Wildblood glanced at the clock on the wall. They weren’t always together, and moments like this felt too precious to waste. He wanted to savor every second he had with Zussman.

"We’ve still got plenty of time," he muttered, his eyes trailing Zussman with a smirk that bordered on suggestive. "Though, I think you need to change. I hate your shirt."

Zussman raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curling up in amusement. "Oh, really? You wanna help me change, or…"

Wildblood stood, stretching out, his tone playful. "Just get in there already. We’ve only got two hours."

With a grin that was almost devilish, Zussman led the way to the bedroom, Wildblood close behind. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed softly in the apartment room.

Outside, the wind was whistling, leaves skittering across the pavement. The cold streets of Chicago seemed to grow colder as the night deepened and winter was approaching. But inside this small apartment, there was warmth. An everlasting warmth of cinder that built from shared history and stolen moments. Hidden, yes—but no less real.

And in this shelter, where the time was frozen, Wildblood and Zussman found solace in each other, even if the rest of the world could never know.

---------

[glendylucast]

Our Shelter (ID version)

(Mainkan lagu ini untuk mood booster, kalau mau)

Chicago, Amerika Serikat November 1948

Angin berdesir di sepanjang jalan sempit Chicago, membawa dedaunan musim gugur yang menggesek dan singgah di trotoar. Hembusan musim dingin semakin mendekat, terasa jelas di udara.

Clifford "Brick" Wildblood menaiki tangga berdebu sebuah gedung apartemen tua. Lantai tiga diterangi cahaya kuning hangat dari bola lampu pijar. Semua pintu di lorong panjang ini terlihat serupa, tapi Wildblood sudah hapal di luar kepala tempat yang hendak dia tuju.

Ia tiba di depan pintu yang sudah tak terhitung berapa kali dikunjunginya, dan mengetukkan buku-buku jarinya.

"Astaga, berhentilah mengetuk dan masuk saja!" terdengar suara familiar berteriak dari dalam.

Senyum kecil tersungging di sudut bibir Wildblood. Dia mengambil kunci usang dari sakunya, memasukkannya ke dalam kunci pintu, dan mendorong pintu terbuka. Dia melangkah masuk, aroma tembakau baru dan kopi segar memenuhi udara. Setelah menggantung syal dan melemparkan jaketnya ke gantungan, dia melirik ke sekeliling ruangan yang nyaman itu.

"Kau tahu aku tidak ingin masuk ke sini dan memergokimu sedang beraksi dengan seseorang seperti waktu itu," goda Wildblood sambil berjalan menuju sofa. "Aku sudah muak melihat bokongmu."

Dari kamar belakang, Robert Zussman muncul, tertawa kecil sambil merapikan lengan bajunya. "Itu delapan bulan yang lalu, Cliff. Bisa berhenti bahas itu, kan?" Dia berhenti sejenak dan mengangkat alis. "Yang benar saja? Kau muak?"

Wildblood menoleh untuk melihatnya. Zussman terlihat sangat rapi dengan rambutnya disisir ke belakang, mengenakan setelan biru laut yang tajam. Dasi yang dikenakannya cocok sempurna dengan rompi berwarna arktik yang membalut tubuhnya dengan presisi ala penjahit handal. Celananya tak bercela, terbuat dari kain yang menampilkan seseorang yang tahu cara berpenampilan elegan, atau setidaknya ingin memberi kesan seperti itu.

"Bagaimana penampilanku?" tanya Zussman, setengah tersenyum, tahu betul efek yang ditimbulkannya.

Ya Tuhan… Wildblood membatin, menatapnya tanpa berkedip.

Zussman memiringkan kepalanya, jelas menunggu jawaban.

Wildblood merasakan mulutnya kering sejenak, tetapi dengan cepat menutupinya dengan komentar santai. "Kau terlihat seperti gigolo murahan dari Boston," gumamnya.

Zussman tertawa, mengacungkan jari tengahnya dengan gaya santai. "Anjing kau."

Mereka berdua tertawa kecil, ketegangan yang semula ada pecah seperti bendungan yang jebol, membiarkan kenangan lama dan kehangatan yang tak terucap memenuhi udara. Zussman tahu Wildblood menatapnya dan ini bukan yang pertama kali. Itu adalah tatapan yang sama seperti saat mereka di kamp Prancis bertahun-tahun yang lalu, tatapan yang tak pernah dia bicarakannya lagi. Tatapan yang membara namun tersembunyi di balik dinginnya jarak dan penderitaan di medan perang.

Dengan senyum di bibirnya, Zussman melirik ke belakang. Setelah dipikir-pikir, semuanya begitu jelas. Wildblood tidak pernah benar-benar membencinya. Dia hanya tidak pernah jujur pada perasaannya sendiri.

Namun, segalanya sudah berbeda sekarang.

"Kau tahu kau selalu terlihat luar biasa mengenakan apapun," akhirnya Wildblood mengakui, meskipun ia berusaha terdengar enggan. "Dan aku benci itu."

"Aku tahu," Zussman menyesuaikan dasinya sambil tersenyum sombong. "Dan aku suka bahwa kau membenci apapun yang kulakukan."

Saat Zussman mengencangkan ujung lengannya, Wildblood duduk di sofa, kakinya terulur, seolah-olah beban dunia akhirnya terlepas dari bahunya. Dunia di luar sana bisa terus membenci, menghakimi, tanpa pernah benar-benar mengerti.

Tapi di apartemen ini, segalanya terasa sederhana. Di sini, ditengah momen-momen kecil yang mereka curi dari dunia, tak ada masa lalu, tak ada perang, tak ada rasa bersalah, tak ada penghakiman.

"Kau benar-benar membuat reservasi di restoran mewah itu enam bulan lalu tanpa memberitahuku?" tanya Zussman, dengan nada agak jengkel. "Kau ingat kan, kita sedang menabung untuk rencana besar?"

"Ayolah, ini cuma sedikit bonus dari klienku!" Wildblood menyeringai, tampak puas dengan dirinya sendiri. "Lagipula, kau harus coba steak-nya. Dagingnya luar biasa."

“Kau bilang mereka memberi makan sapi-sapi malang itu dua botol anggur setiap hari, kan?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Bukankah nanti mereka mabuk dan bikin kekacauan di peternakan?”

“Robert, mereka itu sapi. Mereka nggak bisa mabuk," Wildblood terkekeh, menggelengkan kepala. "Nggak kayak kamu, setidaknya."

“Hei, aku bisa minum dengan normal,” Zussman menyahut, berpura-pura tersinggung. "Nggak seperti seseorang. Ingat Natal tahun lalu?"

“Yeah, yeah…” Wildblood menyeringai, merebahkan diri lebih dalam ke sofa. "Kau menang."

“Jadi, jam berapa kita harus tiba di restoran ini?" tanya Zussman sambil mengambil jam tangannya dari meja kecil. "Hari ini aku yang nyetir, jangan tanya kenapa, oke?"

Wildblood melirik jam dinding. Mereka tak selalu bisa bersama, dan momen-momen seperti ini terasa terlalu berharga untuk disia-siakan. Ia ingin menikmati setiap detik yang dimilikinya bersama Zussman.

“Kita masih punya banyak waktu,” gumamnya, matanya mengikuti gerakan Zussman dengan senyum yang sedikit menggoda. “Tapi, kurasa kau harus ganti baju. Aku benci kemejamu.”

Zussman mengangkat alisnya, sudut bibirnya terangkat, menahan tawa. "Yang benar? Kau mau membantuku ganti, atau…?"

Wildblood berdiri, meregangkan tubuhnya, suaranya mendesir. "Cepat masuk sana. Kita cuma punya dua jam."

Dengan tersenyum kecil, Zussman melangkah menuju kamar tidur sementara Wildblood mengikuti dari belakang. Suara pintu kamar yang tertutup terdengar lembut di luar ruangan.

Sementara di luar apartemen, angin berdesir, daun-daun yang gugur berterbangan di atas trotoar. Jalan di Chicago terasa semakin dingin saat malam semakin larut dan musim dingin mendekat. Tapi di dalam apartemen kecil ini, ada kehangatan. Kehangatan abadi seperti bara yang terbangun dari sejarah bersama dan momen-momen yang mereka curi. Tersembunyi, memang—tapi bukan berarti itu tidak nyata.

Dan di tempat perlindungan ini, di mana waktu seolah membeku, Wildblood dan Zussman menemukan ketenangan dalam satu sama lain, meskipun dunia luar takkan pernah mengetahuinya.

---

[glendylucast]

Cold Distance (ID version)

English version here

Prolog - 1120 kata

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Falaise, Perancis, Agustus 1944

"Sana istirahat dulu! Tidur kalau perlu!"

Clifford "Brick" Wildblood menyipitkan matanya, tangannya tetap kokoh memegang senapan saat ia menarik pandangannya dari scope. Suara itu sudah dihapalnya, Ben Baileys, rekan seperjuangan sekaligus sahabat terbaiknya. Baileys berdiri dengan helm kotor yang miring sedikit di kepalanya. Senyumnya yang lebar seakan tidak pernah hilang dari wajahnya, bahkan di saat-saat terburuk. Helmnya memantulkan sinar matahari sore, memberikan kilau singkat yang kontras dibandingkan dengan kulit dan pakaiannya yang kusam.

Wildblood, seorang pria pendiam dengan rahang yang tegas dan mata cekung yang membuatnya nampak lebih tua dari usianya, duduk membungkuk di lubang perlindungan di luar perimeter kamp. Matanya masih menyisir ke hutan di hadapannya, mengabaikan Baileys.

Keduanya adalah bagian dari Peleton Satu Resimen Infanteri ke-16 Angkatan Darat AS, Divisi Infanteri ke-1. Selama sebulan terakhir, pasukan AS telah memperketat pengepungan terhadap pasukan Jerman yang tersisa saat mereka bergerak menuju Paris. Sekarang, mereka berkemah di Falaise, menunggu gerakan besar berikutnya.

Hari ini, Wildblood sedang berjaga, namun waktu berlalu begitu cepat sehingga dia tidak menyadari bahwa tugasnya sudah selesai. Butuh beberapa detik baginya untuk memproses bahwa gilirannya sudah berakhir, saat Baileys menendang kakinya perlahan.

"Ayo, Bung, kamu sudah kelihatan seperti mayat! Giliranku sekarang!" Baileys mendorongnya dengan sisi kakinya. "Cepatlah!"

Wildblood menghela napas, berkedip seolah-olah baru bangun dari tidur. Dengan enggan, dia bergeser dan bergumam pelan, "Jaga jarak, Baileys. Pernah dengar istilah itu?"

Baileys tertawa kecil sambil menyelipkan dirinya ke posisi kosong. "Santai saja, Bung. Bukan berarti aku mau berbagi ranjang sama kamu! Ini tempatnya nyaman banget!"

Wildblood hanya memutar mata dan mulai berjalan pergi, menggelengkan kepalanya. Sepatunya menggores tanah kering saat dia melangkah, namun sebelum dia melangkah terlalu jauh, Baileys memanggil lagi. "Hey, Brick!"

Wildblood menghentikan langkahnya, sedikit kesal.

"Ambilkan punyaku sekalian!" Senyum lebar Baileys sangat mengganggu, namun cukup untuk melunakkan rasa dongkol Wildblood, meskipun sedikit. "Tolong? Tolong bangeeettt?"

"Ya, ya. Baiklah." Wildblood melambaikan tangan dan berbalik, berjalan menuju dapur umum.

Saat ia melangkah menuju kamp utama, rasa pegal karena berjam-jam berjaga mulai terasa. Ia menggosok tengkuk dan bahunya, mendesah pelan.

Baileys benar. Aku butuh tidur.

Di sekelilingnya, kamp terasa hidup dengan kebisingan para prajurit. Dentingan logam yang berbentur dengan kayu dari orang-orang yang tengah membongkar truk perbekalan, percakapan dari orang-orang yang mencoba menemukan kenormalan di tengah kekacauan, dan sesekali bunyi klik dari senapan yang sedang dirakit ulang. Perang belum usai, tapi momen-momen seperti ini, bahkan di kamp sementara di tengah zona perang, terasa seperti oase di gurun pasir.

Wildblood melewati beberapa orang yang berkumpul di sekitar radio, suara mereka rendah dan stabil. Beberapa prajurit mencoba membicarakan tentang kehidupan sehari-hari—pertandingan baseball atau football, istri, pacar. Yang lainnya saling bertukar cerita perang, tentunya sudah dibesar-besarkan dan diceritakan berulang kali.

Namun, Wildblood sedang tidak ingin mengobrol. Tidak sekarang. Tidak selamanya.

Saat ia tiba di tenda dapur umum, ia mendengar namanya dipanggil.

“Oh hai, Brick!” Suara yang familiar datang dari balik meja. “Sial, jelek banget tampangmu.”

“Bukan pertama kalinya dengar itu hari ini,” gumam Wildblood, sambil mengambil piring logam dan menatap pilihan makanan yang kurang menggugah selera. “Hm, enaknya.”

Koki itu mendengus, sepenuhnya sadar Wildblood hanya berkata sarkas. “Aku anggap itu pujian, terima kasih. Sekarang ambil saja bubur ayamnya sebelum kau bikin antrean.”

Wildblood mengulurkan piringnya, dan sang koki menyendokkan bubur ayam dengan kuah yang encer. Tidak banyak, tapi cukup.

“Baileys juga minta makanannya,” tambah Wildblood, mengangguk ke arah kotak ransum yang ditumpuk di dekatnya. “Boleh aku ambil untuknya?”

Koki itu mengangkat alisnya. “Kalian berdua lagi kerja dobel, ya? Jangan-jangan kau cuma mau nambah porsi?”

Wildblood tersenyum tipis, meskipun matanya yang lelah menunjukkan bahwa ia tak punya energi untuk bercanda. “Percayalah, satu piring ini sudah lebih dari cukup. Baileys minta diantarkan.”

“Baiklah, baiklah,” koki itu melambaikan tangan. “Ambil satu kotak ransum itu sehabis makan. Kalian butuh asupan tambahan hari ini.”

Wildblood duduk di bawah pohon di pinggiran kamp, menyendok makanan ke mulutnya tanpa banyak berpikir. Baru setengah jalan, ia tanpa sadar sedang mendengarkan percakapan di sekitarnya. Suara-suara yang sudah dikenalnya.

“…dan kemudian, boom, seluruh menara jam runtuh. Sumpah demi Tuhan, kupikir kita semua bakal tamat!” Suara satu orang terdengar penuh semangat.

Wildblood mendongak dan melihat sekelompok tentara tidak jauh darinya. Robert Zussman, tentara yang percaya diri dan selalu punya cerita untuk diceritakan, menjadi pusat perhatian. Dikelilingi oleh teman-temannya: Ronald Daniels, Frank Aiello, dan Andrew Stiles, mereka semua tertawa dan mengangguk setuju saat Zussman menceritakan kisah perang liarnya.

Mungkin cerita tentang Marigny lagi, pikir Wildblood sambil menggerutu dalam hati.

Fokus ke makanannya, Wildblood berusaha memblokir suara-suara itu, tetapi entah bagaimana tetap menarik perhatiannya.

Kata-kata Zussman selancar air sungai, tangannya bergerak di udara seolah-olah menghidupkan kembali kekacauan pertempuran. Ada sesuatu yang magnetis tentang Zussman—kepercayaan diri, karisma. Cerita-ceritanya setengah lelucon, mungkin setengah nyata, tapi orang-orang di sekitarnya selalu menikmatinya. Wildblood bisa memahami kenapa. Zussman punya cara untuk membuat orang tertarik, membuat perang terasa seperti sesuatu yang bisa ditertawakan, meskipun hanya sekejap.

Namun, Wildblood tidak tertawa. Dia tidak pernah menyukai Zussman—sejak pertemuan pertama mereka di kamp pelatihan. Zussman adalah pembuat onar, menarik masalah ke mana pun ia pergi. Dia pria yang siap melanggar perintah karena merasa baik dari orang lain, dan itu pernah merugikan tim lebih dari sekali..

Dulu di kamp pelatihan, Zussman melanggar perintah Pierson dan membuat seluruh tim dihukum. Wildblood tidak pernah melupakannya.

Namun, entah kenapa…

(Mainkan lagu ini sebagai back sound kalau mau, buat mood booster.)

Diantara regu itu, pandangan Wildblood hanya tertuju pada Zussman, ada sesuatu yang mengganjal di benaknya. Ia tidak bisa menjelaskan apa, sesuatu yang sulit untuk diabaikan.

Dan ini bukanlah yang pertama kali.

Mungkin rasa iri, mungkin sesuatu yang lain.

Ia memalingkan matanya, kembali fokus pada piringnya yang hampir kosong. Ia menyelesaikan suapan terakhir dengan cepat, ingin segera meninggalkan area makan dan suara Zussman yang mengganggu pikirannya.

Namun, saat ia berdiri untuk mengembalikan nampannya, Wildblood tak bisa menahan dirinya.

Pandangannya menoleh ke sumber suara.

Zussman masih bicara. Suaranya terdengar lebih keras daripada suara-suara lain di kamp, menembus bunyi-bunyi samar peperangan yang ia coba lupakan, meskipun hanya sesaat.

Ada sesuatu tentang cara Zussman tertawa.

Mata zamrudnya yang berkilau dengan harapan meskipun mereka telah melalui banyak hal.

Bibirnya tipisnya yang melengkapi wajahnya.

Wildblood mengepalkan rahangnya, dengan senapan yang bertumpu di bahu kirinya. Untuk sesaat, dunia terasa membeku. Namun, ia menyingkirkan pikiran itu dan terus melangkah. Ia benci mengakuinya, tapi ada sesuatu tentang Zussman yang membuatnya gelisah—dan itu bukan hanya karena kepribadiannya yang menyebalkan.

Ada sesuatu yang lebih dalam, sesuatu yang belum Wildblood ketahui.

...atau mungkin tidak ingin ia akui.

Untuk saat ini, fokusnya adalah mengambil ransum Baileys dan mendapatkan tidur singkat sebelum mereka kembali ke medan perang. Yang Wildblood inginkan hanya bertahan hidup. Ia tidak perlu gangguan atau perasaan yang tidak rasional. Meskipun mereka berada di peleton yang sama, Wildblood bersyukur mereka ada di regu yang berbeda. Ia tidak ingin sering berpapasan dengan Zussman.

Namun, perang memiliki cara yang tak terduga untuk mempertemukan manusia.

-----

[glendylucast]

Cold Distance

Prologue - 1.290 words

Falaise, France, 1944

Clifford “Brick” Wildblood squinted, his grip still firm on the rifle as he pulled his eye away from the scope. That familiar voice belonged to Ben Baileys, his comrade-in-arms and best friend. Baileys stood there, his dusty helmet sitting slightly askew on his head. His big grin never quite leaves his face, even in the worst of times. The man’s helmet caught the afternoon sun, reflecting a brief, ironic shine compared to the dirt painted on his skin and clothes.

Wildblood, a quiet man with strong jawline and weary eyes that seemed much older than his years, sat hunched in a dugout hole just beyond the camp’s perimeter. His eyes were still trained on the woods ahead, lost in the duty.

Both were part of the deployed US Army’s 16th Infantry Regiment, 1st Infantry Division, First Platoon. For the past month, the US forces had been tightening the noose around the last fleeing Krauts as they pushed toward Paris. Now, they were camped at Falaise, waiting for the next big move.

Today, Wildblood was on guard duty, but time went down so fast for him he didn’t even realize his turn was over. It took him a second to process that his shift was over, as Baileys waved him aside.

“Come on, man, you look like a dead guy sitting upright. My turn." Baileys nudged him with his boot. "Chop chop!”

Wildblood sighed, blinking as if waking from a trance. He reluctantly shifted, muttering under his breath, “Personal space, Baileys. Ever heard of it?”

Baileys chuckled as he slid into the vacant spot. “Relax, man. Ain’t like I’m trying to share a bunk with ya! This spot is heaven!"

Wildblood rolled his eyes and started to walk off, shaking his head. His boots scuffed the dry earth as he moved, but before he’d gotten far, Baileys called out again. “Hey, Brick!”

Wildblood stopped mid-step, clenching his jaw.

“Grab mine while you’re at it!” Bailey's grin was maddeningly wide, enough to soften Wildblood’s irritation despite himself. “Please? Pretty f*cking please?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fine.” Wildblood waved him off and turned his back, walking toward the field kitchen.

As he strode through the camp, the dull ache in his shoulders from hours of keeping watch finally hit him. He rubbed the back of his neck, grunting softly.

Baileys is right. I need some damn sleep.

Around him, the camp was alive with the usual noises of soldiers busying themselves. The clatter of metal from trucks unloading supplies, the distant banter of men trying to find humor amid the madness, and the occasional click of a rifle being reassembled. The war hadn’t stopped, but moments like this, even in a temporary camp in the middle of a warzone, felt like breathers between the storms.

Wildblood passed by a few men huddled around a radio, voices low and steady. Some of the troops tried to talk about home—baseball or football games, wives, girlfriends. Others swapped war stories, exaggerated and retold for the hundredth time.   But Wildblood wasn’t in the mood to talk. Not now. Not ever, really.

As he reached the chow tent, he heard his name.

“Oh hi, Brick!” came the familiar voice behind the table. “Damn, you look like hell.”

“Not the first time I hear it today.” Wildblood muttered, taking a dented metal plate and surveying the less-than-appetizing options. “Tasty.”

The cook smirked, knowing full well that Wildblood was being sarcastic. “I take it as a compliment; thank you. Now, just take the damn porridge before you make lines.”

Wildblood held out his plate, and the cook ladled a heap of chicken porridge with some watered-down broth. It wasn’t much, but it’d do.

“Baileys wants his, too,” Wildblood added, nodding toward a ration box stacked nearby. “Mind if I take his?”

The cook raised an eyebrow. “You two pulling' some kinda double duty? You’re not just lookin’ to steal seconds, are ya?”

Wildblood gave a faint grin, but his tired eyes betrayed the lack of energy for banter. “Trust me, one plate of this is enough. Just covering for Baileys.”

“Fine, fine,” the cook waved him off. “Take a ration box when you’re done. You guys need it today anyway.”

Wildblood sat himself under a tree on the outskirts of the camp, shoveling food into his mouth automatically. It wasn’t until halfway through the meal that he realized he was listening to a conversation nearby. Familiar voices.

"… and then, boom, the whole clock tower just collapses. I swear to God, I thought we were all goners!” One voice exclaimed, full of enthusiasm.

Wildblood glanced up and saw a group of soldiers not far from him. Robert Zussman, the brash, confident soldier who seemed to always have a story to tell, was at the center of attention. Surrounded by his friends: Ronald Daniels, Frank Aiello, and Andrew Stiles, all gather around, laughing and nodding along as Zussman spun yet another one of his wild war stories.

Probably telling the same story about Marigny, Wildblood whispered to himself, again.

Focused to his meal, Wildblood tried to block off the noises, but somehow it still caught his attention.

Zussman’s words flowed effortlessly, his arms gesturing in the air as if re-enacting the chaos of battle. There was something magnetic about him—his confidence, his charisma. His stories were half-jokes, probably half-truths, but people around him always ate them up. Wildblood could see why. Zussman had a way of pulling people in, of making the war feel like something you could laugh about, even if just for a moment.

But Wildblood wasn’t laughing. He never liked Zussman—not since their first meeting at training camp. Zussman had always been the boisterous troublemaker who seemed to attract attention wherever he went, the guy who disobeyed orders because he thought he knew better. And it had cost the team.

There was that time in training camp when Zussman defied Pierson’s orders and got the entire team punished. Wildblood hadn’t forgotten.

And yet…

(Play this song for mood booster, if you want to.)

Wildblood's gaze lingered on Zussman, something gnawing at the back of his mind. He couldn’t place it. There was something Wildblood couldn’t ignore.

And this wasn't the first time.

Maybe it was envy. Maybe it was something else.

He tore his eyes away, focusing back on his nearly-empty plate. He finished the last bite quickly, eager to leave the chow area and the sound of Zussman’s voice behind him.

But as he stood to return his tray, Wildblood found himself glancing back.

One more look.

Zussman was still talking. His voice carried above the low hum of the camp, cutting through the distant noises of the war they were all trying to forget, even if just for a moment.

Something about the way Zussman laughed, the way his eyes sparked with life despite everything they’d been through.

Those faded linen eyes.

Those thin and small lips of his.

Wildblood clenched his jaw, his rifle resting on his left shoulder. For a moment, the world seemed frozen. But he pushed the thought aside and marched on. He hated to admit it, but something about Zussman had gotten under his skin—and it wasn’t just his irritating personality.

There was more to it, something Wildblood couldn’t name yet. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

For now, he’d focus on getting Bailey's ration and catching whatever sleep he could before they were thrust back into the chaos. All he wanted is survive. He didn’t need a distraction or irrational feelings. Even when they were on the same platooon, Wildblood glad they were on different squad. He didn't want their path to cross each other.

Yet war had a way of throwing people together in ways they didn’t expect.

-------

My homie on Twitter really convinces me to make my own COD OC thus he was born!

Share more of him & the story later.

[glendylucastoo]

Worry not, he is with Wildblood now, he is no longer single lol.

Delulu is solulu

What Zussman headcanons do you have?

Does he move in with Daniels on his little farm?🥺💕

Aw glad you asked!

In my hc, Zussman did return to Susie (he needed to keep his promise in the letter. After all, he's a gentleman), but unfortunately their relationship didn't last forever.

Zussman ended up single for a while and took the opportunity to return as a football athlete then traveling across the continent.

As for Daniels, He's living happily with Hazel and their children. So... I doubt Zuss will move to Texas.

But you bet Zuss visited them a few times!

First visit!

(I did once thought Daniels would end up being a single father because Hazel was terminally ill and passed away few years later. But well...)