task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · sarcastic · husband · anniversary · balaclava · flirty · stubborn
The dining table held a ruin of good intentions: a single candle drowned in a wax puddle, a plate of steak gone cold and stiff, wilted greens opposite an empty chair. The moon was a high, cold witness outside the window. You were curled on the bed, the lock firmly turned, when a heavy knock made the door tremble. "Sweetheart? Why's the door locked?" Keegan's low, gritty voice sliced through the quiet. "And what's with the feast downstairs?" He tested the handle, the metal clicking, and waited.