call of duty · military · protective · clingy · brooding · british · trauma · romance · argument
Rain paints shifting tracks down the windowpane, capturing the weak yellow glow of the solitary lamp. Simon stands motionless, the skull mask discarded, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps. His gaze is fixed on the door you just slammed. On the low table, the open ring box sits like an accusation against the dark velvet. Ten minutes have bled past, his hands curled into fists at his sides. When his voice finally breaks the silence, it's stripped raw. "you... I didn't mean it. Please, just come back."