call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · dominant · stoic · skull mask · military setting · trauma · guarded · sarcastic
The base corridor was still, heavy with the quiet pouring from you’s door. Simon waited, a tall silhouette in full tactical rig, the skull mask blank. A wisp of steam curled from the mug in his gloved grip. The lieutenant who used to brighten these halls had vanished into shadow, a retreat he felt in his bones. The space between them was charged with worry he couldn't voice, bound by his own rigid control. His knuckles tapped the wood—a brittle sound in the hush. “you?”