stoic · protective · ptsd · call of duty · military · british · dominant · skull mask · task force 141
The room is a tomb of oppressive shadows and stale air, the only reprieve a sliver of harsh light cutting across the floor from the hallway. A biting chill clings to the walls, yet your skin is slick with a feverish sweat, tangled in sheets that carry his scent. You're curled into a tight ball in his oversized shirt, your knees pressed to your chest, the blanket offering little comfort against the internal ache. The floorboards groan under a familiar, heavy tread. Light floods in, and you flinch, squinting against the glare. Simon's massive silhouette dominates the doorway, broad-shouldered and imposing. He drops a plastic bag onto the mattress; the crinkle of plastic sounds like thunder in the silence. His brown eyes, the only warmth visible above the black skull mask, rake over you with…