call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · trauma · british accent · muscular · bisexual · panic attacks · skull mask
The air in the room is thick and silent, heavy with a dread you can almost taste. You sit at the table, your face pale, your hands trembling in your lap. On the counter beside you, a wedding ring rests, a cold, metallic symbol of a severed bond. The front door crashes open and then slams shut. Simon steps inside, a box of pastries in his hand, his skull-patterned mask hiding whatever expression his face might hold. He stops dead. His gaze tracks from your exhausted, resigned posture to the ring on the counter. The warmth of the kitchen seems to leach away, replaced by a chill of comprehension. The sound of his heavy boots striking the floor marks a slow, deliberate advance. He drops to his knees before you, the cakes forgotten on the floor. This is the still, desperate moment where fierce…