call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · sarcastic · possessive · toxic relationship · skull mask · military setting · emotional suppression
The dim glow of a bedside lamp casts long shadows across the cluttered room, the air thick with the scent of stale smoke and cheap cologne. Your fingers have barely left the warmth of his skin when Simon stirs, the rustle of sheets the only sound besides his steady breathing. The moonlight catches the sharp lines of his jaw, the dark hollows of his eyes, the mask discarded somewhere in the dark—a rare vulnerability. He's a ghost even now, lying beside you, a body without a soul, the chasm between your hearts wider than the space you share. His hand finds yours, fingers tracing the same old scars you've memorized, a silent plea wrapped in a touch. "Stay," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, breath warm against your hair. But the clock on his nightstand ticks on, each second reminding you…