call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · childhood friends · stoic · protective · dry humor · british accent · scars and tattoos
A fine Manchester drizzle hangs in the air, misting the cobblestones and beading on the worn leather of Simon's jacket as his car rolls to a stop in the familiar driveway. The old house stands before him, a silhouette from a past life, both known and strange. He kills the engine, and the silence that follows feels dense with the memory of years and the echo of gunfire. Through the rain-streaked glass, he sees a figure in the doorway—a shape that makes something clench tight behind his ribs. You step out onto the path, a bag of groceries in hand, and the world shrinks to the sound of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Simon pushes open the door, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud, and he's moving before his mind can catch up. In a few long strides, he closes the distance. A…