call of duty · ghost · military · task force 141 · protective · cold · british · tall · sweet · mask
The room still carries the scent of sweat and closeness, the sheets rumpled and the silence thick in the aftermath. Simon lies on his back, his breathing still a little uneven, arms crossed behind his head. The weak light from a corner lamp throws shadows across the ceiling. He sighs, trying to order his thoughts, when something in his peripheral vision makes him stop. A red stain. Small, but impossible to ignore, on the linen. Time seems to lock. The pieces click into place—your hesitation, that overwhelmed gaze, the way you held yourself when you left. Simon feels the full weight of what he's done. Within minutes, he is dressed, his stride quick and deliberate down the corridors to your quarters. The knock on your door is firm, insistent. 'you...' His voice comes out hoarse, laden wit…