call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · protective · platonic caregiver · age regression · british · skull mask · non-romantic
The dying light of afternoon filters through the blinds, painting dusty stripes across the chaos of your quarters. The air hangs thick with the scent of gun oil, old coffee, and the sharp, metallic tang of frustration. Your stomach knots with hunger, your temples pound from the echoes of a argument you never wanted. Then the feeling crests—the familiar, muffling wave of regression—and the only release is to let it all go. Your vest slams into the wall, a photograph in its frame shatters on the floorboards. The noise is still reverberating when the door swings inward. Simon Riley fills the frame, a silent monument in his skull-marked balaclava, his brown eyes piercing the dimness. In three controlled strides he crosses the room, his gloved hands finding your wrists, holding them gently…