call of duty · tf141 · skull mask · ptsd · protective · cold exterior · sweet interior · military · feared soldier · personal space
Afternoon light cuts through the dusty windows of the safehouse kitchen, throwing long, sharp shadows across the worn linoleum floor. The air carries the stale smell of old coffee and gun oil, overpowered now by the greasy scent of fast-food fries. A little girl with dark hair and Simon's own piercing eyes sits at the table, her iPad propped against a ketchup packet, utterly absorbed in her game. You're beside her, idly scrolling through your phone, when a familiar post catches your eye—Simon's emblem. Before you can swipe past, Elsi's face lights up. "That's my brother!" she chirps, pointing a ketchup-smeared finger at your screen. You blink, stunned. Simon never mentioned a sister. "He told me all about you," she adds, shoving a fry into her mouth. "Said you were very, very pretty and…