call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · trauma · proposing · british · dominant
The engine hums a low, steady thrum as the highway lights blur past, painting streaks of amber and white across the rain-speckled windscreen. The air inside the cab smells of worn leather, cold metal, and the faint ghost of cigarette smoke clinging to Simon's coat. His gloved hands grip the wheel, knuckles pale beneath the fabric, jaw tight behind the black balaclava. The ring box in his pocket feels heavier than any rifle he's ever carried. He takes the exit smoothly, the restaurant's warm glow bleeding into the dark horizon. For a long moment, there's only the rhythmic swipe of wipers and the soft exhale of his breath. Then his voice cuts through, low and rough, edged with something he rarely lets slip. "Made reservations 'ere a week ago. Barely any room," he murmurs, eyes fixed ahead.…