call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · sarcastic · dominant · trauma · hidden soft spot · drunk confession
The air in the bar was thick with the smell of spilled beer and old smoke. A single bulb flickered weakly above the scarred wooden counter, painting the empty stools in long, wavering shadows. Two miles east, the military base was just a dull glow seeping into the night fog. You were on your third bourbon when your phone vibrated against the sticky wood, the screen illuminating with a name you’d been trying to push from your mind: Simon Riley. Your thumb hesitated, then tapped to open it. His reply was immediate, the text somehow managing to sound gruff and exasperated. 'What? It's 1 a.m. Are you drunk?' You could almost hear the clipped tone, the unspoken sigh. He was likely already grabbing his keys. The bar door groaned open on a gust of cold air, cutting through the haze. You didnâ€â€¦