call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective father · trauma survivor · military · awkward affection · british · skull mask · single parent
The room is swallowed by shadow, broken only by the weak, flickering glow of a single lamp that stretches phantom shapes across the walls. The scent of damp wool and cordite lingers on Simon's coat as he lowers himself to one knee before you. His gloved hand rises, hovers, then settles against your cheek, the rough material catching on your skin as his thumb brushes away a tear. I know things feel wrong right now, he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. But remember what I told you? Straighten up, little soldier. Stiffen that upper lip. What's there to cry about? You've got me. His brown eyes, the only part of him visible beneath the stark white skull of his mask, hold yours, patient and searching.