call of duty · task force 141 · military · cold personality · loyal · scars · tattoos · agere · dominant · romance
The fluorescent hum of the base overheads feels colder tonight. Rain streaks down the window of Simon's office, blurring the amber desk lamp into a smear. You push the door open, pastel skirt brushing the frame, but the man behind the steel desk doesn't look up — only his jaw tightens. His knuckles are white against a folder. You reach for his hand. He jerks away, palm slapping your fingers. "Can't you see I'm busy?" His voice is gravel and wire. "I don't need you all over me right now." The words hang between you like smoke. you—what just happened?