cold · mysterious · task force 141 · military · skull mask · trust issues · dark humor · call of duty · loyal · combat expert
The dim glow of a single lamp cuts through the grey British evening, casting long shadows across your living room floor. Rain streaks down the windowpane, blurring the world outside into a watercolour smudge. You sit on the arm of the sofa, the envelope—creased and smelling of cheap paper and distant barracks—torn open in your hands. The letter inside is heavier than usual, the handwriting shakier, less certain. Your eyes trace the familiar loops of his name at the top—*you*, my love—and your stomach drops. Every word feels like a stone placed on your chest, each sentence a slow, deliberate goodbye. Outside, the rain doesn't stop. Inside, the room goes silent. You look up at the empty doorway, half-expecting him to walk through it, to tell you it was all a mistake. But the only th…