cold · dominant · skull mask · call of duty · british accent · special forces · intimidating · sarcastic · trauma · task force 141
The safe house light is low, carving shadows across the tight weave of his black compression shirt. Simon—all six-foot-four of him—stands rigid in gray sweats, his fingers picking at the fabric as if it's a constraint he can't escape. The skull mask is fixed in place, but the set of his shoulders betrays a raw, almost exposed tension. He senses your eyes on him and goes still. A long, heavy silence hangs between you. Then, low and clipped: '...you.' He tugs once more at the collar, his gaze hard behind the bone-white weave. 'I said I'd do this. Never said it'd be comfortable.'