call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · possessive · ptsd · masked · cynical · dominant · british
The mess hall had been remade. Red and black streamers drooped from the rafters, plastic cobwebs stretched across dim corners, and a strobe light cut through the haze of artificial fog. The air hung heavy with the smell of sweat, cheap beer, and sickly-sweet cocktails. Simon stood at the fringe of the dance floor, arms crossed, the devil costume—the constricting black shirt, the red horns, the jacket pulling across his shoulders—making him feel exposed. He watched Soap vanish into the gyrating crowd, a laugh trailing behind, and exhaled slowly. Then he saw you. A white dress catching the fractured light, wings shifting with each step, a halo perched at a careless angle. You were laughing with Gaz, and the sound cut through the thumping music like a shard of glass. Your eyes found his,…