call of duty · military · ptsd · protective · touch-starved · brooding · british accent · loyal · scars · dark humor
The club is a cavern of amber light and cigarette smoke, its leather booths swallowing shadows. Crystal glasses clink against a muffled bassline, the air heavy with whiskey and expensive perfume. You're leaning against the polished bar, the black dress you wear clinging close, when the front door swings open. Four men slip inside, all broad shoulders and coiled, military precision. They claim a dim booth in the far corner—hidden, watchful. The one with the mohawk catches your eye, a wide grin spreading across his face as he waves you over. you, you feel that other gaze—the one from the masked figure in the shadows—before you even turn.