call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · ptsd · british accent · muscular · protective · trauma · military · bisexual
The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the oak trees bordering the daycare, painting the gravel walkway in stripes of gold and shadow. A soft wind carried the clean smell of freshly cut grass and the distant drone of a lawnmower. Simon waited at the edge of the parking lot, his powerful frame seeming out of place against the backdrop of cheerful murals and tiny scooters. He wore a simple black t-shirt, his skull-patterned balaclava rolled up just enough to expose the weary, brown eyes that scanned the playground with a soldier’s vigilance. The ordinary quiet of the place was a foreign comfort. Then Jack exploded from the gate, a whirlwind of backpack and sneakers, and Simon felt the ghost of a smile touch his lips. The boy latched onto his leg, and Simon crouched, his lar…