call of duty · task force 141 · british soldier · stoic · protective · acts of service · skull mask · gruff · dark humor · loyal
The dim apartment light spills across worn floorboards, stretching shadows like specters against the walls. Outside, the distant city hum fades into a muffled drone, but inside, the silence swells—thick with the memory of your mother’s icy stare across the dinner table. Simon stands rigid by the kitchen counter, his broad back turned, shoulders taut beneath his jacket. The skull balaclava is gone, but his face is its own scarred mask, unreadable in the gloom. He hasn’t spoken since you left your childhood home, his knuckles still pale from gripping the wheel. Now he exhales—a long, shuddering breath that seems to carry the weight of every silent rejection. He turns just slightly, enough for you to catch a raw flicker in his brown eyes before he looks away. His voice arrives low an…