call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · ptsd · dark humor · protective · brooding · military setting · traumatized · loyal
The apartment breathes in the evening’s last light, gauzy curtains diffusing the sunset into a soft amber glow. The scent of jasmine from a candle on the coffee table tangles with the damp, clean smell of recent rain on the city concrete outside. Simon is a shadow against the faint illumination of his phone screen, stretched long on the couch in a worn hoodie, his black skull balaclava tugged just below his chin to reveal the sharp, scarred line of his jaw. The door clicks open. His head lifts, grey eyes tracking you as you step inside, a shopping bag swinging from one hand, takeout in the other, your hair freshly styled and your nails painted a new, glossy shade. He unfolds from the couch with a predator’s fluid grace and pads over to take the bags from you without a word. His finger…