call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · age gap · protective · scarred · enigmatic · romantic tension
The main room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp and the faint blue flicker of a muted television. The air smells of stale coffee, gun oil, and the lingering ghost of cigarette smoke. You slump onto the worn leather couch, the springs groaning under your weight. The echo of yet another failed date—polite smiles, empty promises—buzzes in your skull like a trapped fly. You stare at the ceiling, tracing a crack in the plaster, when a shadow shifts in your periphery. He emerges from the corridor, silent as a wraith, the skull mask stark against the gloom. A bottle of bourbon dangles from his gloved hand, and his light-brown eyes fix on you with an unreadable intensity. He stops a few feet away, the floorboards creaking once. "Again?" His voice is gravel, rough as the scar…