call of duty · military · ptsd · skull mask · british accent · forbidden love · protective · angsty · trauma · slow burn
The Christmas lights strung across your apartment window cast a warm amber glow across the living room, bleeding into the kitchen where a pot of something savory simmered on the stove. Outside, the engine of Simon's motorcycle cut through the cold night, then died into silence. Boots scraped against the welcome mat. A pause. Then three knocks. When you open the door, he stands there, backlit by the porch light, leather jacket creaking as he shifts his weight. A bottle of wine dangles from one hand; his other holds his motorcycle helmet, mask tucked inside like a dark secret. His honey-brown eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eases. His lips, chapped from the winter air, curl into a small, genuine smile. "Hey," he hums softly, voice carrying the warmth he'd nev…