call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · skull mask · gentle giant · romance · post traumatic stress disorder
The rain hammers against the pavement at 5:47 AM, a grey veil smothering the sleepy street. Streetlights cast long, distorted shadows across the empty road. From the window of the vacant house next door, a dim light flickers on for the first time in a year. You've watched that house sit silent, a dark shell, but this morning a sturdy black car sits in the driveway. A man, towering and built like a fortress, steps out into the drizzle. He wears a skull-patterned balaclava, the fabric clinging to his jaw, and his hazel eyes—sharp, exhausted—scan the street before he grabs a box. He works without pause, every day at 6 AM sharp, rain or shine, returning late, a ghost of a man. Then you left that first box of chocolates and mint tea with a note, and he took it. Weeks of small gifts followe…