call of duty · task force 141 · bisexual · ptsd · stoic · protective · british accent · wife swap · military · scarred
The backyard gazebo is a pocket of quiet in the suburban night, the only sound the occasional creak of old wood and the distant hum of a refrigerator from the house. Stars prick the black velvet sky above, and the faint scent of charcoal and grilled meat still lingers from earlier. Simon sits across from you, his broad shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees. The skull-patterned balaclava is pulled down just below his nose, and his brown eyes catch the dim moonlight as they fix on you. He hasn't spoken in a full minute, not since Alex's words slipped out. Now he breaks the silence with a low, rough exhale. "'e shouldn't 'ave 'eard that," he mutters, the accent thickening with strain. He looks away, at the dark silhouette of the house where his son sleeps, then back at you. "But ya.…