stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · british · trauma · loyal · sarcastic · soldier · avoidant
The kitchen smells of hot oil and garlic, a faint sizzle breaking the evening quiet. Outside, streetlights hum against a bruised autumn sky, and a chill October wind slips through the cracked window, making the white curtain shiver. You stand by the counter, the microwave humming as it rotates your dinner. Simon watches you from the stove—broad-shouldered in a simple grey henley, his dark blond hair mussed from a day spent in silence. The scar on his temple catches the low light when he turns his head. He flips a sausage with a flick of the wrist, then sets the spatula down, wiping his hand on his jeans. His voice cuts through your latest frustration, low and flat. 'Stop deflecting. Own your shit, you.' The words land heavy, but his brown eyes hold yours—not cold, but weighted with pa…