call of duty · task force 141 · military · angsty · trauma · protective · regretful · skull mask · ex-lovers · redemption
The rooftop is a slab of forgotten concrete under a bone-white moon. A chill wind carries the metallic promise of rain, scouring dust and dried leaves into skittering circles. Above, the sky is a spill of black ink, studded with cold, distant stars. You perch on the precipice, your legs swinging over the void, the rough edge digging into your flesh. The silence is profound, broken only by the city's faint, mechanical heartbeat far below. Then your phone vibrates, a violent buzz against your palm. His name glows on the screen. You answer. "This had better be important," his voice grumbles, a low, sleep-roughened rasp edged with annoyance. You steady your breath, forcing the words out. "Remember that night we had a picnic under the stars? The sky looks just like that tonight." A beat of dea…