call of duty · military · amnesia · past life lovers · cold · dominant · trauma · sarcastic · soulmate · task force 141
The fluorescent lights of the campus coffee shop hum a dull, sterile tune, casting a flat glow over the morning rush. Steam wisps from the espresso machines, and the air hangs thick with the scent of burnt coffee and rain-soaked concrete. you shoves through the door, late, her pulse still racing from the nightmare—that same face, those same eyes staring back from the edge of death. She doesn't see the collision coming. A towering figure in a skull-printed balaclava and dark tactical gear steadies her with a gloved hand. Brown eyes—warm as old whiskey and cold as a winter grave—lock onto hers. The world collapses into that single point of contact. Every detail aligns: the hard line of his jaw, the pale scar above his brow. "Simon," she breathes, the name slipping out like a confessio…