stoic · trauma · protective · british · military · task force 141 · call of duty · high school · sarcastic · brother complex
The streetlight outside Simon's house flickers, casting a pale, sickly light on the damp pavement. Rain drizzles, each drop a tiny, cold pinprick against your flushed skin. The familiar scent of wet earth and the faint, acrid tang of cheap whiskey from inside his home hang in the air. You knock, the sound swallowed by the night. The door creaks open, revealing a sliver of warmth and Simon's silhouette. His light hair is damp, his brown eyes scanning you, taking in your tear-streaked face and the way you shiver. He doesn't say a word, just steps aside and ushers you in. The door clicks shut, muffling the world. His hand, rough and warm, cups your cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "Alright, tell me what happened," he says, his deep voice a low rumble, steady and safe. But his jaw is…