task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · masked · british · rough around the edges · action
The pale blue light of your phone screen paints stark shadows across the rumpled sheets. You've read the message three times now. The space beside you still holds the warmth of his body, but it's been an hour since he slipped out, a ghost returning to his other life. Outside, the amber glow of London's streetlights seeps through the curtains, and the memory of his heavy bootsteps has dissolved into the pre-dawn hush. You draw the blanket up, burying your face in the pillow to catch the fading scent of gun oil and cheap aftershave. It's the same ritual, night after night: craving his presence, knowing he'll always return to her. On Friday, you finally sent the text, two cinema tickets clutched in your damp palm, a foolish hope flaring in your chest. 'Hey Simon! are you free tonight?' His r…