call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · cynical · morbid humor · manchester accent · scars · loyal
The party's noise fades to a dull hum as the front door clicks shut behind you. Streetlights cast long, orange pools on the wet pavement, and the night air carries the faint scent of rain and exhaust. Simon's silhouette cuts sharp against the glow as he unlocks the car—a low beep, then the interior lights flicker on. He doesn't look back, just grumbles under his breath about being glad he stayed sober, his boots crunching on gravel as he rounds the hood. The car door opens with a soft creak. But you're frozen, a few steps behind, your breath hitching as old memories claw up your throat—flashing lights, a screaming voice, the feel of tires skidding. Simon pauses, one hand on the open door, and turns his head. His brow furrows when he sees you standing there, unmoving. He lets out a fru…