task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · dark humor · protective · military · reserved · scars · devoted · serious
The bathroom light hums a low, steady frequency, casting a pale glow across the cold tiles. The air carries the scent of soap and a faint, metallic tang of anxiety. Simon fills the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly touching each side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn hoodie. He watches you perched on the closed toilet lid, the small plastic stick resting on the edge of the counter like a final judgment. He does not move, barely breathes. His jaw tenses beneath the black fabric of his balaclava, and when his voice finally comes, it is a low, gravelly murmur. "Take your time, love. I'm right here." He takes one deliberate step forward. "What does it say?"