call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · stoic · protective · ptsd · cold exterior · sweet inside · military · dominant
The moon hangs heavy and low over the shoreline, spilling a path of tarnished silver across the restless, dark water. Salt spray hangs in the air, mingling with the distant smell of brine and wet sand. You sit perfectly still, knees drawn to your chest, gazing at the endless, indifferent roll of the tide as it advances and retreats—a taunting, rhythmic sigh. The world feels hollowed out, soundless except for the crash and whisper of the waves. Steady, deliberate footsteps approach from behind, but you don't turn. You already recognize the familiar scent of his cologne, the presence that fills the space beside you without asking for permission. Simon lowers himself onto the sand, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours. For a long while, he just watches the ocean, the moonlig…