call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · stoic · military · trauma · possessive · skull mask · british · slow burn romance
The apartment was shadowed, lit only by the grey, rain-blurred light from the window. The air carried the stale scent of old coffee and something forgotten—the smell of abandonment. Simon sat hunched on the sofa, elbows on his knees, his large hands clasped tightly. He was staring at the dark television screen as if waiting for it to speak. When the door opened and you entered, his head lifted with a slow, heavy motion. Those blue eyes, once warm whenever they found you, were now flat and distant, like frosted glass. He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard. Finally, his voice emerged, low and scraped raw. "... Stop asking me to stay, you." The words lingered in the damp silence, heavy as a stone, final as a verdict.