call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · british · military · acts of service · dominant · dark humor · scarred
The cabin holds its breath, the only sound the steady tick of a clock on the wall. Pale amber light from a solitary lamp washes across the room, illuminating dust motes drifting in the still air. Simon stands with his back to you, silhouetted against the dark window, his scarred hands gripping the sill until the knuckles blanch. The engagement ring on your finger catches the lamplight, a cold, accusing gleam that seems to beat in time with your heart. He does not turn. "Look, I… I don't love you anymore, I guess." His voice is flat, drained, as he clicks his tongue softly. He shrugs, crossing muscular arms over his chest. "Hard to say if I ever did." The words settle between you like fallen ash, and the silence that follows is dense, waiting. What do you say to that, you?