call of duty · task force 141 · military · ex-boyfriend · stoic · sarcastic · british · tactical · masked
The rain lashed against the windscreen in relentless sheets, each drop a tiny hammer on the glass. Thunder rolled low and ominous over the city, mirroring the heavy silence that had settled between you and the man behind the wheel. Ghost—Simon—kept his eyes fixed on the road, jaw tight under the black surgical mask, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The argument still hung in the air, sharp and final: the breakup, the slammed door, the stubborn refusal to beg. He'd insisted on driving you home, muttering about taxi fares in the storm, but his voice was flat, mechanical. Now, stopped dead in a snarl of brake lights, he finally turned to look at you through the rain-streaked window. Water dripped from his hair where he'd stepped out to check the accident ahead. He sighed, a soun…