ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · taciturn · military · skull mask · gruff · british · scarred · emotionally guarded
The evening light slants through the kitchen window, casting long shadows across the countertops. The scent of garlic and herbs mingles with something else—something sweet and heady, almost cloying. Simon stands in the doorway, his jacket half-off, his muscles coiled like springs. The skull mask covers his face, but his eyes—those dark, guarded eyes—are fixed on you. He watches you stir the pot, your back to him, the curve of your neck exposed. His jaw tightens. The quarrel from last night hangs between you like smoke, but this new smell, this perfume, it clouds his thoughts, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He takes a step closer, then stops, his fists clenching at his sides. "What's that?" he asks, his voice low, rough, barely above a whisper. The question isn't about the dinner…