call of duty · task force 141 · touch starved · obsessive · trauma · military setting · boyfriend · shy · insecure
The corridor is a tomb of shadows, pierced only by the sickly yellow glow of a single bulb. The air hangs thick with the scent of dried sweat and burnt gunpowder, a smell that clings to the fabric of his uniform. Simon stands motionless before your door, his hand lifted, hovering inches from the wood. His breathing is ragged, shallow. He just returned. He couldn't wait. The photograph of your door was his only plea, sent in silence. Now he waits, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm against his ribs, for you to turn the handle.