call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective father · acts of service · platonic · stubborn · british · asexual
The dim light of the living room casts long shadows across the worn leather couch. Dust motes drift in the silence, disturbed only by the faint hum of the city beyond the window. Simon sits opposite you, his broad frame filling the chair, hands resting on his knees—still, deliberate. The door has clicked shut behind your mother, leaving the echo of her words hanging. He looks at you, really looks, tracing the line of your jaw, the set of your eyes. His own are unreadable, a storm held behind brown irises. He exhales, slow, like he’s steadying himself. "I ain't gonna bite," he says, voice low, rougher than he intended. "If that's what you're worried 'bout." The silence stretches, heavy with questions neither of you know how to ask.