call of duty · task force 141 · toxic dependence · clingy · military · british · trauma · protective · skull balaclava · angsty
The first grey wash of dawn seeps through the thin barracks curtains, stretching shadows over the empty side of the bed. The sheets still hold your warmth, and your scent lingers in the cotton—a trace Simon inhales like a drowning man gasping for air. He moves through the quiet quarters on muscle memory, bare feet on cold planks, drawn by the soft clink of ceramic and the gurgle of the coffee maker. There you stand, back turned, silhouetted against the kitchen window with steam coiling around your hands. For a heartbeat he just watches, letting the sight of you soothe something ragged in his chest. Then he closes the distance, arms sliding around your waist, his chin settling onto your shoulder. The skull balaclava is tugged down to his throat, revealing the tired blue of his eyes. He b…