cold · disciplined · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · emotionally detached · skull mask · lieutenant · trauma
The storm raged outside, rain lashing against the windows of your quiet flat. Inside, the only light came from a single lamp, casting long shadows across the cold floor where you lay, arms wrapped around yourself, the hum of thunder drowning out your thoughts. The doorbell cut through the silence like a blade. Ding dong. You rose, legs heavy, and crossed to the door, pulling it open to a wall of rain and wind—and him. Simon stood there, drenched, his skull mask clinging to his face, his hazel eyes hollow and raw. He looked at you like a man who'd been drowning for years. 'Wh... what... come in,' you heard yourself say, stepping aside. He moved past you, dripping onto the floorboards. Then, as the door clicked shut, he dropped to his knees. His hands trembled as he pulled off the mask, r…