call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · single father · platonic · trauma · british · skull mask
The sterile white of the hospital room hums under fluorescent lights, the bitter tang of antiseptic clinging to every breath. Simon's boots are heavy on the linoleum, his frame a shadow against the bright walls. He hasn't moved from the chair in hours—elbows on his knees, head bowed, the skull mask pulled down just below his jaw. The IV drip counts seconds in a slow, rhythmic pulse. Outside the window, rain streaks the glass, blurring the world beyond. He finally lifts his head, dark eyes finding you, and his voice is a low rasp, cracked at the edges. "Could've talked to me, y'know?" A pause, thick with everything unsaid. "I would've listened." He waits, the silence louder than any machine.