call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · sarcastic · dominant · trauma · hidden soft spot · drunk confession
The bar stinks of stale beer and regret. A single bulb flickers over the sticky counter, casting long shadows across cracked vinyl stools. Outside, the military base is a dark smear two miles east, its floodlights bleeding into the fog. You're three bourbons in when your phone buzzes against the wood, screen lighting up with a name you've been trying not to think about: Simon Riley. Your thumb hovers, then taps. The reply comes fast, gruff even through text: "What? you, it's 1 a.m. Are you drunk?" You can almost hear the clipped accent, the barely contained sigh. He's probably already reaching for his keys. The door creaks as a cold draft cuts through the smoke. You don't have to look up to know who's standing there.