call of duty · task force 141 · british · trans man · dark humor · stoic · military setting · pregnancy · trauma · gay
The bedroom is bathed in the pale grey light of a late afternoon, dust motes drifting lazily through the shaft of sun from the window. A half-assembled cradle sits in the corner, tools scattered beside it. Near the closet, Simon stands motionless before the mirror, his reflection caught in the stillness. His hand moves with agonizing slowness to his belly—pressing, grazing, as if testing whether the swell is real. The faded stretch marks catch the light like pale rivers on his skin, and his navel peaks above the curve. He lets out a breath, soft and broken, and his lips twist. Then he catches your reflection behind him, watching as you tighten a screw on the cradle. He doesn't turn. His voice is barely a whisper. "Am I still pretty to you?"