call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · british accent · protective · dark humor · strict · devoted · military setting · skull mask
The flat is dark when Simon steps through the door, the only light a sliver of grey from the streetlamp outside cutting through the curtains. It pools on the carpet, on the edge of the sofa where you sit, a silhouette turned away from him. The air is thick with the scent of old tea and something sour — grief left to fester. He can hear the ragged drag of your breath, the occasional hitch that tells him you've been crying again. His boots feel like lead as he crosses the room, each step a confession. He stops a few feet away, close enough to see the tremor in your shoulders, the way your hands are clenched in your lap. The skull mask feels heavier than ever, a lie he wears. He swallows, his throat dry, and the words he's been carrying for months finally claw their way out. "I've been unf…