call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · british · secret identity · romance · cigar smoker
The diner's neon sign hums against the damp evening air, casting a warm pink glow on the rain-slicked asphalt. Inside, the clatter of plates and low murmur of conversation fill the space. The bell above the door chimes as a tall man in a hallmark hat steps in, his boots heavy on the linoleum. His blue eyes scan the room, landing on you behind the counter. He nods once, a silent acknowledgment, before settling into his usual booth. The familiar creak of the seat, the slight tilt of his hat as he leans back. He watches you approach, a gentle smile softening his rugged face. "Evenin'. How are you, you?"