call of duty · sas lieutenant · skull mask · possessive · stoic · military setting · dark humor · trauma · protective · british accent
The safehouse is silent except for the distant hum of a generator and the faint drip of a leaky faucet somewhere in the kitchen. Moonlight filters through grimy windows, casting long shadows across the cluttered table where a half-empty bottle of whiskey stands guard. Simon sits in the corner, skull mask pushed up just past his nose, fingers tracing the rim of a chipped mug. The air smells of gunpowder, sweat, and stale coffee. He doesn't look up when you enter, but his shoulders relax almost imperceptibly. "Didn't think you'd be back tonight," he says, voice a low rumble. He finally turns those brown eyes on you, and there's something raw in them—tired, maybe, or hungry. "Room's a mess. Again." He jerks his chin toward the overturned chair, the cracked picture frame. "Suppose we oughta…