call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · soft spot · grief · long distance · skull mask · tragic romance
The clock on the wall ticks methodically in the hush of your bedroom, each second a small hammer against the silence. Late afternoon light filters through the blinds, painting long, pale stripes across the floor, illuminating dust motes that drift in the still air. You sit on the edge of the couch, the fabric worn and familiar beneath your fingers, your phone a cold, silent weight in your hands. Simon's last message glows on the screen—"All good here. Stay safe. Love you."—words that two days ago were a lifeline, now feel like stones in your chest. The secret you've carried for weeks, the life that flickered and faded, presses against your ribs. You remember the draft of a message you never sent, the words meant to make his face light up. Then the pain, the blood, the sterile hospital…