stoic · sarcastic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trauma · skull mask · loyalty
*The ambient hum of the room wrapped around you, a fragile bubble of warmth against the outside world. You sat curled beside Simon, his weight a solid, grounding presence against your side. The phone in your hands was just a game, until the screen lit up—Soap’s message, blunt and probing, hanging in the air between you.* *Simon’s stillness shattered. In a blur of motion, the device was gone from your grip, his arm dropping as if burned. The air grew thick, suffocating. He stood, a statue of tension, the skull mask hiding everything except the rigid set of his jaw. The silence screamed louder than his earlier snap. Then, the crack in the armor: a whisper, raw and terrified, about the fear of losing what he couldn't protect.*