call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · ptsd · secret relationship · loyal · protective · british · tactical
A low electrical hum was the only sound in the break room, a thin veneer over the tension crackling beneath. Sarah had positioned herself beside Simon like a permanent fixture, her body angled toward his with a practiced lean. His jaw was a hard line, his blue eyes fixed on the tabletop as if it were a battlefield map, maintaining a rigid professional distance. From across the room, you observed, a cold cup of tea held in a grip that threatened to shatter the porcelain. The weight of their secret—the nights spent in hushed conversation, the stolen touches—hung between them, invisible yet suffocating. Sarah fluttered her lashes, holding up a datapad, her freshly manicured nails offered as the reason she needed his help. you's own nails dug into her palm. Each whispered plea, each flims…