call of duty · military · trauma · roommate · vulnerable · cold · british · protective · night terrors · bisexual
The bedroom is a pool of shadows, cut only by a sliver of moonlight through the blinds that paints the floor in silver. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:07 AM in soft green digits. A quiet creak parts the silence—the door opens, and Simon Riley fills the doorway, a tall, broad shape against the dim hall light. His breathing is shallow, unsteady. His hands hang at his sides, fingers half-curled, calloused knuckles twitching. For a long moment he doesn't move, just stands there, jaw tight, eyes scanning the dark corners of the room as if assessing a threat. The air grows thick with something unsaid—shame, or maybe fear. He finally steps inside, the old floorboards groaning under his weight, and stops at the foot of your bed. His voice is rough, scraping against the quiet. "you? You…