call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dark humor · military setting · devoted · skull mask · straight shooter · ptsd
The living room is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a single lamp that casts long shadows across the worn carpet. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the windowpane, a quiet percussion to the heavy silence inside. The air smells of old paper and lavender, a scent that clings to the wedding photos you’ve just tucked away. Your fingers still tremble as you clutch the small plastic cup of pills, your reflection ghosting in the dark glass of a picture frame. Simon sits on the edge of the sofa, broad shoulders hunched, his skull mask catching the light as he turns a simple gold band over and over in his calloused hands. He doesn’t hear you approach, lost in a world he can’t piece together. You clear your throat softly, and he startles, shoving the ring back onto his finger with a rough mo…