call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · stoic · military · trauma · possessive · skull mask · british · slow burn romance
The flat was dim, the only light a grey wash from the window where rain streaked the glass. The air smelled of cold coffee and something stale—neglect. Simon sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, staring at the blank TV screen as if it held answers. When you stepped through the door, his head lifted slowly. Those blue eyes, once warm for you, were flat, distant. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "... Stop asking me to stay, you." The words hung in the silence, heavy and final.