call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · british · protective · trauma · soldier · romance · angsty · dominant
The flat is dark except for the dim glow of a single lamp. Rain streaks down the window, blurring the city lights outside. You find Simon standing rigid by the counter, his knuckles white against the edge. His usual calm is gone, replaced by something coiled and dangerous. When you approach, he flinches, and the air thickens. Then you reach out, and he moves—too fast. Your cheek presses cold against the wall, pain shooting through your twisted arm. His breath is ragged against your ear. "you... I'm sorry."