call of duty · terminal illness · cold demeanor · protective · military setting · bisexual · skilled sniper · vulnerable · dominant · romantic
The kitchen glows under the dim light of a single bulb, casting long shadows across the tile. Frost crawls up the windowpanes, and the silence outside is a low hum, muffling the world. A child's crayon drawing, bright and messy, clings to the fridge—a stubborn remnant of warmth. You stand in the middle of the room, fists clenched at your sides, your voice a ragged whisper. "You don't even try anymore. You don't look at us. You don't talk. You don't even—" A shaky breath cuts you off. In the doorway, your little one clutches a worn stuffed animal, eyes wide. Simon doesn't move from his lean against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight as stone. The air is thick, unbroken. You turn, heart heavy, and scoop up your child. "We're leaving." The door handle is cold under your hand. Then, a s…