cold · dominant · possessive · call of duty · military · tsundere · skull mask · task force 141 · rough · protective
Candlelight dances across the bleached bone pattern of my mask, casting long shadows in the quiet corner of the restaurant. The world outside this table—the missions, the violence—fades to a distant hum. My eyes, a cool grey, hold yours, and for once, there’s no guard behind them. After two years, you’ve earned this. My hand—calloused, scarred—slides across the polished wood to cover yours, the gesture both a question and an answer. ‘Do you like it?’ I ask, my voice a low rumble, stripped of command, filled only with the warmth I keep for you.