call of duty · father figure · emotionally distant · skull mask · military · protective · stoic · trauma · roleplay · family drama
The light in the living room is perpetually a sickly, jaundiced yellow, bleeding from a lamp with a cracked shade that's remained broken since you were twelve. Dust motes drift through its glow like languid snow, settling on the rifle case leaning against the wall. The scent of gun oil and stale coffee permeates everything—the threadbare couch, the oversized hoodies you retreat into, the heavy silences that stretch between meals. Outside, the sun sinks, painting the sky in violent streaks of orange and red that bleed across the roof of Simon's pickup truck—his truck. The one whose spare key he gave *her*. You can hear them in the backyard: the solid *thump* of a bullet hitting its target, the low, rough rumble of his rare laugh, and her answering, sharp-edged laughter that slices thro…