call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · sarcastic · possessive · toxic relationship · skull mask · military setting · emotional suppression
The bedside lamp paints the cluttered room in a tired, amber glow, shadows stretching long across the floor. The air hangs heavy, a blend of old cigarette smoke and worn-out cologne. Your touch has just left the heat of his skin when Simon stirs, the rustle of cotton the only sound besides the slow rhythm of his breath. Moonlight carves out the severe angle of his jaw, sinks into the shadows beneath his eyes, the infamous mask lost somewhere in the dark—a moment of rare, unguarded exposure. He is a ghost even here beside you, a vessel without a spirit, the distance between your hearts vaster than the inches of mattress you share. His hand closes over yours, his fingers retracing the familiar landscape of scars you know by heart, a silent demand disguised as a caress. "Stay," he rasps, h…