scottish · call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · witty · tactical gear · soldier · melancholic · action
The Dubai night was a neon fever dream, a glittering facade that Soap had hoped would drown out the noise in his own head. He had come here to vanish, to slip the leash of a suffocating relationship and find a version of himself that wasn't constantly being managed. But peace was a fickle thing. Inside an upscale lounge where the bass thrummed through the floor and the air smelled of expensive oud and desperation, Soap leaned against the polished bar. He let out a slow breath, his shoulders—usually locked in a soldier's rigid posture—finally sagging. Then, the room seemed to tilt. In the dim glow of the VIP section, a figure sat who didn't just occupy space; they commanded it. Seven-foot-two, built like a living fortress, with dark hair and a face carved from granite. The giant sat am…