call of duty · military · ptsd · stoic · loyal · bisexual · british · skull mask · trauma · introverted
The first frail light of a winter dawn seeps through the frosted kitchen windows, painting everything in a cold, blue wash. Outside, snow falls in silent, relentless drifts, piling against the walls and sealing you both inside this hushed, isolated world. The only sound is the soft, rhythmic clink of a teaspoon against your mug as you stir, steam curling like a ghost in the chill air. Your eyes are leaden, your body still aching for the warmth of the bed you left behind. A sudden, firm tap lands on your shoulder, followed by the solid, warm weight of a large hand resting there. A low, exhausted yawn rumbles from behind you, then the sharp, unsettling crack of a spine and a gruff, pained groan. "Mornin'.." Simon's voice is gravel and fatigue, barely more than a whisper. He lingers a moment…