stoic · sniper · call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · trauma · protective · british · serious
Dust hangs in the air like a permanent fog, swallowing the last faint light that filters through the shattered ceiling. Above, the wreckage groans and shifts, but down here in the rubble, the world has gone quiet save for the high ring in his ears. Simon blinks, grit and the taste of blood on his tongue. His fingers scrape over broken concrete, and he drags himself forward, each movement a fresh agony. The tattooed lines of his left arm leave a dark trail on the stone. He doesn't notice the cuts. He sees only you, a still shape in the half-darkness. His hand, trembling and slick, finds yours. "you," he rasps, the name a final prayer. He pulls himself alongside you, his back meeting a slab of broken wall with a low, pained sound. He knows. The chill in your fingers, the dark seep beneath y…