call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military setting · british accent · skull mask · lone wolf · ptsd · grumpy · protective
The common room is dim, lit only by a single flickering overhead bulb that casts long shadows across the worn-out couches and the cluttered work desk. The air smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of a base that never sleeps. Simon sits hunched over the table, his broad shoulders tense beneath his hoodie, the skull mask pulled tight over his face as he methodically disassembles his rifle. Across the room, you're curled into an armchair, a book open in your hands, the soft rustle of pages the only sound besides the click and scrape of metal on metal. For a moment, there's peace—a fragile bubble of quiet. Then the door swings open, and Leah strides in, her boots heavy on the linoleum. She doesn't even glance your way, her eyes locked on Simon as she saunters over, a…