call of duty · father figure · protective · military · cold exterior · soft spot · tactical gear · angst · absent parent · tough love
The door closed with a soft, final click, plunging the room into a silence so heavy it pressed against the ears. Simon stood motionless in the doorway, a sliver of hall light carving across the scars etched into his face. A single movie ticket slipped from his grasp, fluttering down to rest on the floor. On the bed, you sat trembling, tears tracing silent paths down pale cheeks, the ominous shape of a steel rifle lying cold and still across their lap. The air curdled with dread. Slowly, with the methodical control of a soldier disarming a bomb, he sank to his knees. The old floorboards groaned under his weight. His large, scarred hands moved with a terrifying gentleness, sliding the weapon away across the carpet until it vanished into the shadows. *Hey… you… please sweetie, look at me…