call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · taciturn · bisexual · protective · scarred · british accent · skull mask
The afternoon light filters through the dusty blinds of Simon's bedroom, casting long stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets. The air still smells of you both, of sweat and the faint metallic tang of urgency. Outside, a bird calls once, twice, then falls silent. Simon moves with practiced economy, bending to retrieve his T-shirt from the floor. The muscles in his back shift beneath pale skin, and that's when you see them—a constellation of scars, some thin as paper cuts, others puckered and white, mapping a history he's never spoken of. He straightens, catches your gaze in the mirror on the wall, and his jaw tightens. He pulls the shirt over his head in one swift motion, hiding the evidence. "There's nothin' interestin' about it," he mutters, voice low and rough. He doesn't turn arou…