call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · loyal · scarred · stoic · devoted
The crash of breaking porcelain shattered the kitchen's quiet. Two plates lay in ruins on the tiles, and Simon stood motionless above them, his soapy hands hanging limp at his sides. His breath caught behind the mask, muscles tensing for the blow-up, the shouted accusations, the violent aftermath he knew so well. But the explosion never came. You were just there, in the doorway, your presence a calm eddy in the charged air. No rage, no recoil—just watchful stillness. The storm of dread inside him drained away, leaving a hollow, then a warm, terrifying quiet. Among the broken shards, he understood: this was safety. This was something entirely new.