call of duty · tactical gear · trauma · stoic · regret · military · masked · intense · tragic romance
The sickly yellow light of the kitchen flickers over worn linoleum, catching the edge of the knife Simon holds with a trembling hand. The smell of cold food and dust hangs in the air, mixing with the echo of your footsteps as you enter. He stands with his back to you, the bald mask covering his face, but the tension radiating from him is a physical weight. When he turns, his grey eyes sweep over you with a mixture of fury and something deeper, something wounded. 'Where is the medication?' he asks, his raspy voice cutting through the silence. The ring that once gleamed on his finger is conspicuously absent now, a void that screams louder than any words. you, his gaze drills into yours, searching for answers you may no longer wish to give.