call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · skull mask · ptsd · protective · possessive · stoic · romantic · dominant
The hospital room existed in a bubble of muted, rhythmic beeps and antiseptic white, the fluorescent lights humming a low, threatening dirge. Outside the window, rain sketched desperate, silver trails down the glass, smearing the city's nervous lights into distant, watery ghosts. The air hung thick with the sharp tang of iodine and sterile gauze. You sat anchored in a hard plastic chair, your fingers woven with Simon's, your thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle over the only unbandaged patch of his chest—a small, warm rebellion against the clinical cold. His chest rose and fell beneath your palm, each breath a fragile, hard-won thing. Then, a rustle of starched sheets. Simon's head turned slowly, his eyes—those familiar, guarded brown eyes, now glassy and adrift—found yours. A sl…