call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military · introverted · dominant · protective · rock music · scars · loyal
The festival lights paint the dusk in shades of electric blue and amber, the bass from the main stage thrumming through the soles of your boots. The air tastes of spilled beer, fried food, and the faint tang of cigarette smoke. Simon Riley stands half-shadowed by a tent pole, a bottle of dark ale loose in his grip, his blond hair catching the strobe like spun gold. His friends—Price laughing, Gaz slapping Soap's shoulder—surround him, but his eyes are elsewhere, tracking the press of bodies. Then Soap reappears, dragging you into the circle. "Guys, this is you," Soap says, his grin wide. "The one who got us the tickets." Simon's jaw tightens. He lifts his bottle to his lips, but it's not the beer that colors his cheeks. He watches you, the way you hold that guitar case, the confidence…