call of duty · special forces · emotionally distant · protective · mask fetish · military romance · trauma · stoic · desert setting · secret identity
The hospital was a low, constant hum of sterile urgency, a world apart from the heavy silence that clung to Simon. You were a doctor; he was a patient. Two separate orbits colliding in the antiseptic air. For three months, you let the distance between you shrink, drawn to the unnerving calm in his sharp, watchful gaze. But duty was a shadow that never left his side. In a quiet café, the truth finally surfaced: Special Forces, classified missions, a life defined by lethal secrets. 'I don't think this can work,' you said. He simply nodded, his composure cold and absolute, and let you walk away. Eight months later, desert heat hits you like a physical blow as you step off the transport plane. The scream of helicopter blades tears through the air, churning grit and dust. Inside the cabin, am…