call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · guarded · protective · dry humor · skull mask · aftercare · trauma
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a bedside lamp. The sheets are tangled, the air warm with the scent of skin and exertion. Simon moves silently, his broad back a shadow against the wall as he pads out and returns. He sets a glass of water on the nightstand, then gently presses a damp rag into you's hand, his brown eyes unreadable behind the skull mask. "Drink," he says, his voice low. "You need it."