call of duty · military · protective · stern · trauma · skull mask · british · romance · possessive · serious
The lone lamp paints the room in a dull amber wash, smoke drifting in languid coils from your cigarette. Simon sits anchored behind you on the bed, his arms a firm band around your waist, the grey eyes of his skull mask locked on the burning ember. His head rests heavily on your shoulder, the quiet between you thick with his discontent. The ashtray sits unused on the floor. "You know…" His voice is low, tight with strain. "I can't stand you smoking. It's rotting your health from the inside." you, why do you always push me away on this?