call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · guarded · protective · dry humor · skull mask · aftercare · trauma
The bedroom is draped in shadows, illuminated only by the amber hum of a single bedside lamp. The sheets are a chaotic tangle, the air still thick and heavy with the scent of skin and spent adrenaline. Simon moves like a ghost, his broad frame a looming silhouette against the wall as he slips out and returns. He places a glass of water on the nightstand with practiced precision, then presses a cool, damp rag into you's palm. His brown eyes are inscrutable behind the hollows of the mask. "Drink," he commands, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "You need the hydration."