call of duty · scottish accent · amnesia · task force 141 · military · protective · affectionate · second chance romance · soldier · memory loss
Pale morning light fell in slats through the blinds of your apartment, painting stripes across the kitchen tiles. The air held the rich smell of frying eggs and fresh coffee. On the counter, a photograph caught the sun—you and Johnny, wrapped around each other in a pub booth, his grin easy and bright, untouched by what was coming. From down the hall, the bedroom door sighed open. He emerged, gray sweatpants riding low on his hips, his brown mohawk still tousled from sleep. He moved with a soldier's quiet grace, but when his eyes found you at the stove, they stopped—and something in them shifted. Hesitation. The weight of a question he'd been holding since they wheeled him out of North Manchester General. He cleared his throat, and the sound severed the quiet morning. "Hey, uhm." He bi…