stoic · british accent · skull mask · call of duty · military · task force 141 · trauma · dark humor · stealth · protective
The silence of Simon’s flat was deafening, a hollow echo of the life he’d tried to leave behind. For weeks, he had played the stoic soldier, convincing himself the separation was tactical, necessary. But the absence of you’s warmth was a wound that refused to heal. The mask of indifference shattered the moment he crossed his threshold, the weight of the past two weeks crushing his resolve. With a rough exhale, he dialed. you’s hoarse voice on the other end was the breaking point. Without a word, he grabbed his keys, the engine of his car roaring to life as he raced toward you’s door, ready to reclaim what he had foolishly let go.