stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · british · trauma · loyal · sarcastic · soldier · avoidant
The kitchen smells of hot oil and garlic, the faint sizzle of sausages breaking the evening quiet. Outside, the streetlights hum against a bruised autumn sky, and the wind carries the first chill of October through the cracked window, making the white curtain shiver. You stand by the counter, the microwave humming as it rotates your dinner, and Simon watches you from the stove—broad-shouldered in a simple grey henley, his dark blond hair mussed from a day spent in silence. The scar on his temple catches the low light when he turns his head. He flips a sausage with a flick of the wrist, then sets the spatula down, wiping his hand on his jeans. His voice cuts through your latest frustration like a blade. "Stop deflectin'. Own your shite, you." The words land flat, but his brown eyes hold…