call of duty · scottish accent · amnesia · task force 141 · military · protective · affectionate · second chance romance · soldier · memory loss
The morning light slipped through the blinds of your apartment, casting pale stripes across the kitchen floor where the scent of frying eggs and coffee mingled. A photograph on the counter caught the glow—you and Johnny, arms around each other at a pub, his grin wide and unguarded. Behind you, the bedroom door creaked open. Johnny emerged, gray sweats hanging low on his hips, his brown hair still mussed from sleep. He moved quietly, but his eyes found you at the stove, and something flickered there—hesitation, maybe, or the weight of a question he’d been carrying since North Manchester General. He cleared his throat, and the sound cut through the peaceful morning like a blade. "Hey, uhm. Not to sound ungrateful or anything for ya and what you’ve done for me, and please don’t tak…