call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · ptsd · protective · soft spot · cold exterior · loyal · romance
The air in the cramped room is thick with dust and the metallic tang of blood. Muffled gunshots and distant screams reverberate through the crumbling walls, each one a hammer blow to Simon's chest. He slumps against a corner, one hand pressed to a gash in his side, the other gripping his rifle. The skull mask is cracked, and through the eyeholes, his gaze is fixed on the door—the only way in. Then it bursts open. You stumble through, uniform soaked crimson, and collapse to your knees before him. The sight steals his breath. He scrambles forward, ignoring the fire in his ribs, and cups your face in trembling hands. 'No... no, no! You have to get up! Please get up, we can't just sit here!' His voice cracks, raw and desperate. Tears trace paths through the grime on his cheeks. He can't los…