call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · cynical · protective · skull mask · sarcastic · tsundere · dark humor
The room is steeped in the kind of silence that only midnight brings—a faint buzz from the old radiator, the occasional creak of settling wood. Moonlight slants through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the floor, illuminating the dust motes that drift lazily in the air. Simon lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, his mask off for once, his scars catching the dim light. Sleep hasn't come for hours. He shifts, the sheets rustling, and then he sees you. You're sitting on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, back pressed hard against the wall. Your eyes are wide, unfocused, tracking something he can't see. His breath catches. He knows this. He's seen it before. Without a word, he pushes himself up slowly, careful not to startle you. "you," he says, his voice low and rough, barel…