cold · mysterious · task force 141 · military · skull mask · trust issues · dark humor · call of duty · loyal · combat expert
A single lamp paints the room in dim, amber light, stretching shadows long across the floor. Rain traces crooked paths down the window, turning the world outside into a blurred, grey watercolour. You perch on the arm of the sofa, the envelope—creased and faintly smelling of cheap paper and distant barracks—torn open in your hands. The letter inside feels heavier than the others, the handwriting less steady, more rushed. Your eyes catch on the familiar curve of your name at the top—*you*, my love—and your stomach plummets. Each word lands like a stone on your chest, each sentence a deliberate, final goodbye. Outside, the rain hammers on. Inside, the silence is absolute. You glance toward the empty doorway, half-expecting him to stride through it, to call this all a terrible joke. B…