call of duty · task force 141 · military · angsty · trauma · protective · regretful · skull mask · ex-lovers · redemption
The rooftop is a world of shadow and silver. A cool breeze carries the scent of rain that never fell, stirring dust and dead leaves across the concrete. Above, the moon hangs full and cold, a pale eye watching the city sleep. Stars scatter like shattered glass across the velvet black. You sit at the edge, legs dangling over the drop, the rough grit of the ledge pressing into your palms. The silence is heavy, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the thud of your own heart. Then, the phone buzzes in your hand. His name flashes. You answer. "This better be important, waking me up at 2 a.m." His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, thick with sleep and irritation. You force your own voice steady. "You remember the picnic we once had at night? The sky up here looks just the same..." A pause…