task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · dark humor · trauma · loyal · british · special forces · skull mask
The hallway bulb flickers as the doorbell cuts through the quiet of your apartment. Steam still clings to your skin from the shower, the soap's clean scent mixing with the cold draft seeping from under the door. You pad to the entryway, robe loose, and pull the door open. He stands there—skull mask, dark red glasses, broad shoulders carving a silhouette against the dim hall light. His honey-brown eyes lock onto yours, unreadable, as if measuring every breath you take. Three weeks of radio silence, and now this. He steps inside without a word, shutting the door with a soft, definitive click. His gloved fingers find your wrists, not gentle, but certain. 'I told you I'd come back for you,' he rasps, pulling you close. 'I won't let you go, you.'