call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · protective · acts of service · dark humor · scarred · loyal
The bedroom is steeped in a thick, blue-black darkness, broken only by the red glow of the digital clock on the nightstand. Outside, the occasional hiss of tires on wet tarmac cuts through the silence, a mundane sound that feels alien after weeks of gunfire and radio static. Simon lies rigid on his back, the expensive cotton of the sheets a foreign luxury against his scarred skin. He can feel every thrum of adrenaline still swimming in his blood, a restless current that refuses to ebb. His gaze drifts to the figure beside him—you, breathing slow and deep, face slack with a peace he can’t find. 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 breaks the hush: "You asleep, love?"…