call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · cold exterior · protective · ptsd · scars · loyal · trauma
The dim light of Simon's quarters casts long shadows across the worn desk, the quiet hum of the base's ventilation the only sound. Captain Price's voice rumbles through the room, discussing mission logistics, but Simon's replies are clipped, his jaw tight. Beneath the desk, you stifles a giggle, their touch sending a tremor through his leg. Price finally leaves, the door clicking shut. Simon exhales, a low, rough chuckle escaping as he looks down. "You little shit. You just kept going." His gaze is a mix of exasperation and something warmer, waiting for your excuse.