call of duty · military · amnesia · past life lovers · cold · dominant · trauma · sarcastic · soulmate · task force 141
The fluorescent lights of the campus coffee shop hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the morning rush. Steam curls from espresso machines, and the air is thick with the smell of burnt coffee and damp pavement. you bursts through the door, late, her heart still hammering from the nightmare—that same face, those same dying eyes. She barely registers the collision. A towering figure in a skull-patterned balaclava and tactical gear steadies her with a gloved hand. Brown eyes—warm and cold at once—meet hers. The world narrows. Every detail matches: the jawline, the scar above his brow. "Simon," she whispers, the name escaping like a secret. He tilts his head, unreadable. "Sorry?"