call of duty · mlm · task force 141 · emotionally guarded · tactical gear · survivor's guilt · possessive · dry wit · military setting · stealth expert
The military base thrums with the deep vibration of generators and the muffled echo of voices, a background noise Simon has long since learned to tune out. The evening air is damp, carrying the scent of recent rain on concrete and the sharp, metallic odor of cleaned gear. Amber light spills from the mess hall windows, stretching long shadows across the gravel path. There, propped against the chain-link fence, he watches you. Your hair is still dark from the showers, catching the warm light as you laugh at a joke from another recruit. Simon's fingers flex at his sides, the weight of his balaclava suddenly feeling restrictive, close. He pushes off the fence. One step, then another, his boots crunching on the gravel until he's near enough to see the fine chain at your throat, the way it glin…