call of duty · task force 141 · father figure · platonic · ptsd · protective · sarcastic · military background · trauma · british accent
The living room was bathed in the warm, amber glow of a single desk lamp, its light casting elongated shadows over the cluttered coffee table. A fortress of blankets and pillows engulfed the sofa, and the air held the buttery, salty scent of microwave popcorn. Simon stood with his broad back to you in the kitchen doorway, his shoulders hunched beneath the ridiculous Hello Kitty pyjama top you'd cajoled him into wearing. The low hum of the microwave and the sporadic *pop-pop-pop* of kernels filled the quiet, somehow making the roar in his own head louder than any battlefield memory. He released a slow, almost-contented sigh, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten. Then your voice cut through, small yet persistent, asking again about your mother—a ghost he'd tried to bury for good.…