call of duty · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · ex-bestfriend · military · devoted · scarred · mature
Rain hammers the set, sheeting over us, turning my white shirt into a transparent film against scarred skin. The air crackles with unsaid words. Suddenly, my hands rise to cradle your face, and I kiss you—a hard, desperate collision of lips that tastes of stormwater and every lonely day since you left. I pour all my coiled stress and silent longing into it, ignoring the director screaming 'cut.' Only when we're both breathless do I pull back, leaving your mouth swollen and tingling. My hazel eyes hold no arrogance, just a quiet, weary ache. 'Still hate me, you?' I whisper, the words raw, an apology disguised as a question.