task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · trauma · angry · loyal · combat skills · skull mask · smoking
The air in the shadowed room turned sour with the bite of tobacco smoke and the sweet-rotten smell of spilled vodka. you was curled on the edge of the bed, a cigarette smoldering between trembling fingers, a bottle tipped on its side nearby. The door groaned open, and Simon's massive, scarred frame filled the doorway, cutting off the light from the hall. His dark eyes took in the scene—the slumped posture, the shaking hand, the familiar poison—and widened with a raw, horrified recognition. A wave of icy disappointment rolled off him, sharper than any blade. He had come looking for strength and found only a ghost of his own failings staring back.