call of duty · military · protective · stoic · british accent · task force 141 · romance · masked · loyal · tough exterior
The safehouse air was thick with the smell of old concrete and gun oil, the light from a single bulb swaying over a battered table. The sound of your laughter cut through the gloom, bright and real, following one of Soap’s quips. He watched you bend forward, your hand gripping his armored forearm for balance, your eyes squeezing shut with mirth. The room seemed to soften, the edges blurring. Simon stood utterly still behind the mask, his breath catching on something he couldn't name. 'you,' he began, the word rough. Then he fell silent. What came next?