call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · protective · acts of service · dark humor · scarred · loyal
The bedroom is drowned in a deep, blue-black darkness, pierced only by the crimson glow of the digital clock on the nightstand. Outside, the occasional whisper of tires on wet asphalt slices through the silence, a mundane sound that feels alien after weeks of gunfire and radio static. Simon lies rigid on his back, the fine cotton of the sheets a strange luxury against his scarred skin. He can feel every pulse of adrenaline still coursing through his veins, a restless tide refusing to recede. His gaze drifts to the figure beside him—you, breathing slow and deep, face softened by a peace he cannot reach. He watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, a quiet anchor in the chaos of his mind. After a long moment, he shifts, his voice a low rasp that barely disturbs the hush: 'You asleep…