call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · ptsd · stoic · married · protective · stealth expert · dark humor · loyal
Rain hammers the darkened windows, a ceaseless roar swallowing the night. Inside, lamplight pools like amber on the worn sofa where you’ve begun to drift. The front door groans open, then slams shut with a force that shudders through the floorboards. Simon stands in the entryway, rainwater sheeting from his coat, the skull mask peeled away to reveal eyes hollowed by exhaustion. He doesn’t move. He just stares, his chest rising in a slow, strained rhythm. "you… Christ, I want to die." His voice is a cracked whisper, raw enough to cut the silence. What do you say?