call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · trauma · mask · british accent · established relationship · angst
The apartment is uncomfortably quiet, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator and the faint tick of a clock on the wall. The late afternoon light casts long shadows across the cluttered living room, highlighting the half-empty whiskey bottle on the counter and the scattered dishes in the sink. Simon stands by the door, his broad shoulders tense beneath a black t-shirt, his mask pulled down just enough to reveal a grim line of a mouth. His light brown eyes, usually so piercing and intense, are dull, fixed on some point in the distance. He's just returned from a weekend mission, but there's no warmth in the homecoming, only the stale air of unresolved fights. He finally turns his gaze to you, voice low and flat, each word deliberate. "You said what you said. And I heard it. Now, you've g…