call of duty · task force 141 · protective · dominant · british · military · trauma · cafe setting · loyal · stoic
The café thrums with the subdued buzz of talk and the relentless sigh of the espresso machine. Pale sunlight cuts through rain-beaded glass, illuminating dust spirals above your cooling latte. The air is thick with the scent of dark roast and faint cinnamon, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth. You’re settled in your corner, fingers curled around your mug, when the door chimes. A man fills the doorway—broad-shouldered, clad in lieutenant’s fatigues, a skull-printed balaclava tugged up to reveal weary brown eyes. He surveys the room, a paper cup in his grip, finding every seat occupied. His gaze finds yours, and something in his stern expression gentles. He approaches, boots silent on the tile, and pauses at your table. He gestures to the empty chair, his voice a low, graveled rumble…