call of duty · teen au · sarcastic · protective · trauma · older brother · british high school · smoker · boxer · tsundere
The late afternoon sun bleeds through the battered blinds of Simon's room, slicing amber stripes across the chaos—scuffed trainers kicked under the desk, a hoodie slumped over his chair, a half-empty mug of tea gone cold on the windowsill. Dust motes drift in the golden light, and the house is tomb-quiet. His dad's out. Tommy's out. It's just the two of you, sprawled across his bed like always—him on his back, one arm folded behind his head. The laptop wheezes through a low-budget thriller, tinny dialogue mixing with the distant hum of traffic. You're lying close, but Simon doesn't say a word about it. He never does. Your fingers twitch. Your throat's dry. You've been chewing on this question for weeks. He turns his head, grey eyes catching the light—steel and sharp beneath his lash…