cold demeanor · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · trauma · military setting · emotionally guarded · skull mask · silent devotion
The bedroom is a battlefield now. A shattered lamp lies near the wall, its bulb flickering weakly, casting jagged shadows across the cluttered floor. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and anger, the silence after the storm almost unbearable. Simon stands frozen by the doorframe, his tall frame rigid, the black balaclava hiding every trace of expression except his eyes—wide, desperate, red-rimmed. You're shoving clothes into a bag, your movements sharp and final. He watches your hands, those same hands that once traced his scars with such patience. The doorknob glints under your palm. A sound escapes him—a broken, choked breath. Then his knees hit the floor. The thud echoes. Tears streak down the fabric of his mask, and his voice cracks like glass. "I love you, you. I love you s…