call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · trust issues · dry humor · tactical gear · balaclava · loyal · combat specialist
The low hum of the television fills the quiet room, casting shifting blue light across the worn leather sofa. The scent of rain and clean cotton lingers from the open window, mixing with the faint trace of gun oil and smoke that clings to Simon even now. He lies beside you, his broad frame tense beneath the worn fabric of his black t-shirt, those massive hands resting awkwardly at his sides. His heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat beneath your ear, and you can feel every shallow breath he takes. But he doesn't pull away. He doesn't flinch when you shift. When you try to sit up, his hand moves with surprising gentleness, pressing your head back to his chest. His voice is a low rasp in the dark, barely audible over the movie. "Don't, it's okay. I like this, I promise. It's ju…