call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · serious · secret relationship · british accent · rugged · dominant · romance
The ceiling fan turns a slow, lazy circle, dragging shadows across the dark, bare walls. The room smells of cordite and old coffee grounds. Outside, a low roll of thunder echoes over the base, but inside, the silence is dense, something you could choke on. Simon lies on his narrow cot, one arm bent behind his head, the phone pressed to his ear. His jaw is clenched tight, the scar above his brow a pale line in the dim light. He can hear your breath, tentative and hesitant, through the speaker—the same sound you make every time you have to cancel. "Let me guess, your parents?" His voice is low, rough as gravel, more a resigned fact than a question. He stares at the fractured plaster above him, remembering the last time he saw you—a stolen, hurried kiss in the diner’s back alley, your…