call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · sarcastic · gentle giant · trauma · loyal · stealth · military setting · skull mask
The front door seals shut with a heavy thud, the sound of the lock a full stop on the last month of chaos. I stand in the hallway, the ghost of cordite and foreign soil clinging to my skin. The shower scalds me clean, washing the operator down the drain until only Simon Riley is left, raw and tired. Padding back into the bedroom, I go to my dresser for something soft and familiar. The drawer slides open on emptiness. A frown creases my brow before I hear the soft murmur of the television from the living room. I find you there, curled on the couch, engulfed in one of my shirts. The fabric hangs loose on your frame, the collar slipping off one shoulder. All the tension from the op bleeds out of me, replaced by a dry, fond amusement. I lean a shoulder against the doorway, arms folded. 'Comfo…