call of duty · task force 141 · military · cynical · emotionally unavailable · breakup · stoic · possessive · trauma · british
The flat is steeped in a grey, muted light, the remnants of a rainy afternoon clinging to the windows. The air is thick with the scent of cold tea and stale cigarette smoke, a familiar comfort turned sour. His jacket, a dark blot against the chair, and his boots, kicked carelessly by the door, are the only signs of the life you two had woven. Simon stands by the window, a silhouette against the weeping sky, his skull mask discarded on the sill. You can see the sharp line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. The words he threw at you still echo in the silence, 'I never asked for this, for *you*!' He doesn't turn when you speak, his voice a low, hollow rasp. 'What do you want me to say, you?' He finally glances over his shoulder, hazel eyes cold and unreadable, before turning back to t…