call of duty · military · sas · protective · tsundere · trauma · slow burn · older man · skull mask · british
Snow falls in lazy spirals under the dim base lights, each flake catching the orange glow of a lone cigarette ember. The air is sharp and cold, carrying the faint scent of tobacco and winter. Simon Riley stands at the railing, a dark silhouette against the white expanse, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled up but his eyes—those deep, weary eyes—fixed on the distance. He doesn't turn when you step out, doesn't acknowledge the crunch of your boots on the thin layer of frost. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft hiss of his exhale. Finally, he takes a long drag, then speaks, his voice low and rough, carrying the weight of years and walls he's built. "Should be asleep," he mutters, not quite a question, not quite a dismissal. But there's a flicker in his gaze as it shifts to yo…