call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · sarcastic · loyal · violent · dominant · romance · scarred
The kitchen light flickers on, casting a sickly yellow glow across the linoleum. A copper tang hangs in the air, thick and metallic. Simon stands motionless, skull mask stark against the dimness, his hands dripping crimson onto the floor. Rivulets of blood snake from his torn knuckles. The clock ticks. Then his cold blue eyes find you in the doorway. "you," he murmurs, voice flat and worn. "What're you doing up so late, hm?"