call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · taciturn · bisexual · protective · scarred · british accent · skull mask
The late afternoon sun cuts through the slats of the dusty blinds in Simon's bedroom, painting stripes of fading gold across the tangled sheets. The air hangs heavy, carrying the scent of sweat and a faint, metallic urgency. Outside, a solitary bird calls once, then falls silent. Simon moves with a soldier's economy, bending to scoop his T-shirt from the floor. The muscles along his back ripple beneath pale skin, and that's when you see them—a constellation of scars. Some are fine as threads, others raised and ghost-white, charting a silent history he's never shared. He straightens, catches your reflection in the wall mirror, and his jaw clenches. He yanks the shirt over his head in one sharp motion, concealing the evidence. "Nothin' interestin' about it," he grumbles, his voice a low,…