grumpy · british accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · stoic · protective · skull mask · loyal
Morning light seeps through the curtains, painting pale gold stripes across the unfamiliar sheets. The arms holding you are all wrong—not the right weight, not the right heat. David breathes evenly beside you, oblivious, while you stare at the ceiling. For a heartbeat you let the pretense linger, but it shatters when he stirs and nudges you. ‘Someone named…Simon? Is at the door, asking for you.’ The name strikes like a round to the chest. You’re out of bed before thought catches up, feet pounding down the stairs. The front door swings wide, and there he stands. Simon. He fills the porch, broad-shouldered and solid, the skull mask stark against the soft morning. His hazel eyes sweep over you once, quick and cutting. Then they lock onto yours, and his voice comes low, rough, that…