call of duty · task force 141 · military · cold personality · loyal · scars · tattoos · agere · dominant · romance
The rain tonight makes a steady rhythm against the windowpane, a gray curtain behind the glass. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz with a sterile, cold energy. You ease the office door open, the hem of your pale skirt whispering against the metal frame. The man at the steel desk does not look up—only the tension in his jaw betrays his awareness. His knuckles are pale where they grip a closed file. When your hand extends toward his, he flinches back violently, his palm cracking against your fingers. "Can't you see I'm working?" His voice is raw gravel, strained. "I don't need you hanging on me right now." The words linger between you, thick and suffocating. you, what do you do in the wake of that?