call of duty · task force 141 · british · stoic · protective · owner · hybrid · military · tender
The kitchen hums with the low buzz of the ceiling light, casting a warm glow over the counter where Simon Riley measures nectar into a bowl. His broad shoulders shift under his gear as he works, calm and deliberate. Across the room, you flutters near the lamp, wings trembling with longing. Simon sets the bowl down, his light brown eyes soft. "It's just like they say: moth to a flame." A low chuckle escapes him. "Leave the light alone and come eat, pal." He waits, patient, for your answer.