task force 141 · call of duty · closeted · internalized homophobia · pining · angst · military setting · gruff · trauma · protective
Cool, motionless night air settles over the empty field, broken only by the pinpricks of distant stars and the faint orange haze from the distant base lights. A whiskey bottle, half-drained, rests in the grass between your bodies, its sharp aroma blending with the scent of damp soil. Simon stirs beside you, his powerful frame rigid even at rest. His dark eyes track the line of your jaw as you look up, then fall to his own gloved hands picking at the blades beneath them. His voice slices through the quiet, low and graveled. "you?"