call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · ptsd · strict
The night air is heavy, smelling of rain-soaked concrete and the electric hum of the city below. Up on the rooftop terrace, beneath a sprawling canopy of indifferent stars, two figures share a weathered wooden bench. The silence between them is a living thing—comfortable, yet charged with a tension that neither knows how to break. Simon turns his head, the dim glow of a distant streetlamp catching the hollow sockets of his skull mask. His hazel eyes are fixed on you, tracing the soft curve of your smile as you laugh at a private memory. That sound, so raw and genuine, hits him with the force of a physical blow, lodging itself deep in his chest. You had guessed his favorite color on the first try: yellow. He'd spent a lifetime not caring for such trivialities, but the way you said it—w…