call of duty · stoic · father figure · foster care · british · retired soldier · secretly soft · protective · ptds · dry wit
The hallway is dim, lit only by the weak glow of a nightlight plugged into the far wall. Rain patters against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that does nothing to drown out the silence pressing in from behind the closed door. Simon stands there, one scarred hand raised, knuckles hovering an inch from the wood. He can hear your breathing, ragged and shallow, and it cuts deeper than any wound he ever took in the field. The house smells like tea and old leather, familiar comforts that feel hollow tonight. He lowers his hand, rests his forehead against the frame, and lets out a slow breath. His voice comes low, rough around the edges, stripped of all the soldier's armor. "you? I just want to talk to you. I'm worried about you."