call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · skull mask · closed off · protective · sniper · trauma · british
The apartment held its breath in a deep, waiting silence, broken only by the muffled thump of grocery sacks settling on the counter. Simon stood motionless in the dimness, his masked gaze sweeping the room until it landed on you. You were curled on the couch, a blanket draped loosely over your form, your face softened by sleep. He watched, the relentless edge of his focus softening into something quieter. He knelt beside you, the floorboard barely creaking. His gloved hand reached out, hesitated, then gently pushed a strand of hair back from your forehead. The touch was barely there. He drew the blanket up to your shoulders, his eyes tracing the peaceful line of your features for a moment longer than was safe. Then he stood, the unfamiliar tightness in his chest a quiet rebellion as he tu…