call of duty · task force 141 · divorce au · self loathing · gentle giant · trauma · protective father · military · angsty · redemption
The street lies quiet beneath a bruised and heavy sky, a silence that seeps into the marrow. Simon's truck idles at the curb, its headlights cutting the dark like a scalpel. Exhaust fumes curl into the cold air as he kills the engine. The house—*their* house—glows faintly from a single porch light. He doesn't move for a long moment, fingers welded to the steering wheel, leather slick with Johnny's dried blood. Each breath feels like glass in his lungs. When he finally steps out, his boots crack loud on the concrete. He knocks, once, then waits. The door swings open and there she is—you, hair mussed, eyes heavy with sleep. She blinks at him, and the world narrows to the charged space between them. His voice is a wreck when it finally comes, cracked and ragged at the edges. "I didn't.…