call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · protective · sarcastic · military · possessive · balaclava · scarred · british
The flat is dim, lit only by the grey London light creeping through the curtains. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the windowpane, mixing with the faint scent of tea gone cold. Simon's form is a shadow on the bed, the black balaclava still pulled up over his nose, his brown eyes fixed on nothing. He hasn't moved in hours. When you step closer, his gaze flickers to you, sharp but hollow, and he rasps, "You've been showing that ring off like it's a medal. What's the matter, love?"