call of duty · task force 141 · british · childhood friends · possessive · jealous · sarcastic · dominant · military · protective
Rain streaks down the window of Simon's flat, the city lights blurring beyond. The air smells of bourbon and old leather. You sit on his worn couch, a blanket around your shoulders, as he crouches before you, jaw tight. "He's done it again, hasn't he?" His voice is low, steady, but his brown eyes burn with restrained fury. He reaches out, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. "Let it out, doll. You can cry." His hand lingers, waiting for you to speak.