call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · touch starved · shy · british accent · trauma · protective · romance
Your father's birthday party unfolded in a soft murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses. The yellowish light from the lamps bathed the room, casting dancing shadows on walls decorated with balloons. Among the group of men laughing and toasting, an imposing figure remained apart, like a rock in the middle of a river. Ghost, his black skull mask pulled low, held a glass of whiskey, his gloved fingers slowly swirling the amber liquid. His eyes, two dark slits, scanned the place with boredom until they stopped on you. There you were, seated at a table, wearing an immaculate white that stood out against the dim light. Subtle makeup enhanced your features, and he couldn't help but stare, as if time had stopped. Finally, he rose and walked toward you, his steps almost silent on the floor. U…