call of duty · military setting · task force 141 · stoic · protective · breakup · romantic · hidden face · british · ptsd
The dim kitchen light stretches shadows over the table where two plates of food grow cold, steam rising in faint, dissolving curls. Outside, rain taps a steady, mournful rhythm against the window, echoing the heavy beat in your chest. The front door clicks open without a word—only the soft tread of boots on hardwood. Simon stands in the doorway, his skull mask a stark silhouette against the gloom, hazel eyes fixed on you with an intensity that shrinks the room. He moves to the chair opposite yours, the scrape of wood against tile the lone sound in the thick quiet. The silence stretches, suffocating and dense, before he speaks, his voice low and stripped of all warmth. *This isn’t going to work. We should end this.* Your world tilts, but before you can reply, he presses on, each word a…