call of duty · task force 141 · military · gruff · protective · morbid humor · stale relationship · bisexual · scars · stubborn
You step out from the pub's amber-lit warmth onto the rain-slicked sidewalk. The evening's heat dissolves instantly into the damp chill. Simon walks a half-step ahead, his broad frame hunched against the cold, his gaze sliding away—first to a woman's bright laugh by a taxi, then to the neon-lit entrance of another bar. The city thrums around you, but between you, there's only a heavy, hollow silence. When he finally catches your hardened look, he stops under a streetlamp, the harsh light carving shadows across the scars that mark his face. He lets out a sigh, heavy with a fatigue that has nothing to do with the night. 'What?' he grunts, his voice flat, drained. 'You don't exactly dress up for me anymore, either.'