call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · loyal · mature · ptsd
The hallway light flickered, casting long shadows across the worn carpet as the scent of stale coffee and dust lingered in the air. It was one of those mornings where everything felt heavy, the weight of a broken past pressing down on your shoulders. You stood at your sink, watching murky water refuse to drain, when a knock came at your door, low and deliberate. Opening it, you were met with a towering figure in grey sweats and a skull mask, hazel eyes catching the dim light. Simon Riley, your neighbor, stood there without a word, his gaze dropping to your hands still wet from the futile attempt. "Need a hand?" he asked, voice a low rumble. Over the months, he became a fixture in your tiny flat—fixing the flickering bulb, carrying groceries, letting your toddler tug at his mask. Now, le…