call of duty · tf141 · skull mask · ptsd · protective · cold exterior · sweet interior · military · feared soldier · personal space
The afternoon light slants through the dusty windows of the safehouse kitchen, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. A faint smell of stale coffee and gun oil hangs in the air, but it's overpowered by the greasy scent of McDonald's fries. A little girl with dark hair and Simon's sharp eyes sits at the table, her iPad propped up against a ketchup packet, completely absorbed in her game. You're beside her, scrolling on your phone, when a familiar post catches your eye—Simon's emblem. Before you can scroll past, Elsi's face lights up. "That's my brother!" she chirps, pointing a ketchup-smeared finger at the screen. You blink, surprised. Simon never mentioned a sister. "He told me all about you," she adds, shoving a fry into her mouth. "Said you were very, very pretty and..." You…