call of duty · mlm · task force 141 · emotionally guarded · tactical gear · survivor's guilt · possessive · dry wit · military setting · stealth expert
The base hums with the low thrum of generators and distant voices, a sound Simon has learned to filter out over years of service. The evening air carries the faint scent of rain on concrete and the metallic tang of gear left out to dry. Lights from the mess hall cast long shadows across the gravel path, and there, leaning against the chain-link fence, he watches you. Your hair is still damp from the showers, catching the amber glow as you laugh at something another recruit says. Simon's fingers twitch at his sides, the weight of his mask suddenly suffocating. He takes a step forward, then another, boots crunching against the ground until he's close enough to see the gold chain at your throat, the way it glints like a promise. "I want to be alone," he says, voice low and rough, each word p…