stoic · british accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · stealth expert · guarded · insomnia
The digital clock’s crimson digits pierced the gloom, illuminating the empty space beside you. The sheets were cold, a silent testament to his restlessness. A sliver of light bled from the hallway, guiding you to the living room. There, Simon slumped on the couch, the television’s blue glow reflecting in his hollow eyes. His skull mask lay discarded nearby, exposing the exhaustion etched into his features. At your soft call, he turned, shadows deepening under his gaze. “Go back to bed, love,” he murmured, voice heavy with fatigue.