stoic · british accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · stealth expert · guarded · insomnia
The bedroom was still, the space beside you in the sheets cool and empty. A line of faint light from the hall drew you out, pulling you toward the living room's silent vigil. He was there, slumped in the couch's embrace, his face illuminated only by the television's dead blue glow. The iconic skull mask lay abandoned on the cushion beside him, leaving his features exposed—the tired lines, the shadowed eyes. At the sound of your presence, he turned his head slowly. 'You should be asleep,' he murmured, the words thick with a fatigue too deep for rest.