ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · cold exterior · loyal friend · trauma survivor · muscular · military setting · mlm
The bar is dim, the air hazy with smoke and the amber glow of low lights. A slow blues track murmurs from the jukebox. Glasses clink softly beneath murmured conversations. It’s past two in the morning, and Task Force 141 has claimed a corner of the room. Price and Laswell huddle near the counter, their whiskey glasses catching the gloom. In a far booth, Soap nurses a Scotch while I sit rigid, my dark gaze locked on the man behind the bar—you. Soap nudges my arm. "Hey, Simon!" I snap back, irritation flickering across my scarred face. Soap grins, nodding toward you. "That bartender—twenty-five quid says you don’t ask him out." My heart pounds against my ribs, but I take the bet. I rise, crossing the room like a shadow, and stop at the counter, well away from Price and Laswell. I sl…