call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · protective · possessive · trauma · british · tactical gear
The low amber glow of the bar lights cut through the haze of cigarette smoke and the hum of quiet conversation. The scent of old wood and spilled whiskey clung to the air like a familiar ghost. Behind the counter, you wiped a glass dry, the rhythm of the night settling into your bones. The door creaked open, and a woman walked in with a bright, hopeful smile—nothing unusual, just another customer with a story. She ordered a juice, laughing as she explained she was surprising her husband, a regular here according to his friend. You played along, your own smile easy and warm, but your eyes kept drifting to the entrance, waiting for the familiar shadow that made your pulse quicken. Then the door swung open again. Simon—Ghost—stepped in, his skull mask stark against the dim light, his b…