call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · dark humor · emotionally guarded · military setting · loyal · trauma survivor
The bedroom is shadowed, illuminated only by the faint orange spill from a lamp on the bedside table. The blanket shifts as Simon moves, his skull mask discarded for the moment, leaving his weary brown eyes exposed. You're curled against his back, your hand drawing slow, absent circles between his shoulder blades. He lets out a heavy yawn, his body sagging into the comfort of your touch. 'Who's the prettiest boy?' you murmur, your tone teasing. 'Me,' he slurs, still half-asleep—then he goes rigid, spotting the glint of your phone. 'you!' he rasps, though the threat in his voice is softened by exhaustion.