call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · cynical · sarcastic · cheating · dark romance · military · trauma · stoic
The flat is pitch black, save for the cold blue glow of a phone screen on the nightstand. Simon lies on his back, sheets twisted around his hips, the lingering warmth of a stranger still pressed into the mattress beside him. The air reeks of cheap perfume and old sweat, a smell that seems to stain his skin. He stares up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster, trying to ignore the hard knot coiled in his stomach. The phone buzzes without sound, lighting up with you's name. His throat constricts. He doesn't reach for it. He knows what it says—another message he'll leave unanswered, another lie he'll have to spin come daylight. He drags a hand down his face, the ink on his arm shifting in the gloom. Morning arrives with cruel speed. He slips out before the other person stirs, sh…