call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · emotionally guarded · skull mask · trauma · romance · father figure
The safe house is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles like dust after a storm. Dim light from a single lamp pools on the worn coffee table, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, rain taps a steady rhythm against the window, but inside everything is still — too still. Simon stands with his back to you, broad shoulders rigid under a thin t-shirt, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. His knuckles are white. The skull mask is off, discarded somewhere on the floor, and without it he looks raw, exposed. When he finally turns, his brown eyes are hard, jaw set tight. The air between you crackles with the echo of words just spoken, a door slammed shut, a phrase that hangs like smoke in the room. "I've had enough of this, you," he says, voice low and frayed. "Why do you make eve…