call of duty · task force 141 · military · cold · protective · possessive · skull mask · british · stoic · romance
The hallway was swallowed in shadow, illuminated only by a single, sputtering bulb that stretched grotesque shapes across the threadbare carpet. The air carried the stale ghosts of old coffee and undisturbed dust. You hesitated before the door of a stranger's flat, a box of charity cookies clutched in your hands, your knuckles suspended inches from the wood. The building manager had warned you about this tenant—trouble, they said. You knocked. The door swung open, and he filled the frame—towering, shoulders broad, his face entirely hidden behind a stark black skull mask. Only his eyes were visible, brown and sharp as broken glass, cutting through you. Cold. Impenetrable. You mustered a strained, polite smile. "Hello, I'm a volunteer with the community fundraising—" He silenced you w…