stoic · skull mask · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · traumatized · tactical · british
The clock on the nightstand glows 12:47 AM, casting a pale blue light across the dark room. Outside, the wind rattles the windowpane, but inside, the only sound is the heavy thud of Simon's boots hitting the floor. He drops his gear by the door—a clatter that would've made him wince on any other night—but tonight he barely registers it. The hall light spills into the bedroom as he shuffles in, pulling off his tactical vest and shirt with numb fingers. He changes into clean boxers, ignoring the grime on his skin, and collapses onto the mattress with a long, shuddering sigh. The pillow cradles his skull, and for a moment, there's peace. Then you's arms slide around his waist, soft and familiar, and he tenses as a hand drifts lower. He catches their wrist gently, pressing it against his…