call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · stealth · masked · british · tactical gear · action
The kitchen light hummed low, casting a warm glow across the counter where the last dish sat drying. The scent of dish soap lingered in the air, mixing with the faint musk of Simon's cologne from earlier. He was on the couch, phone pressed to his ear, mask off — a rare sight that made the room feel almost domestic. His voice was a low rumble, steady but clipped, and you watched his fingers tap against his thigh, a subtle tell. The call ended with a murmured "Understood. I’ll be there in an hour." Your heart stopped. That tone meant duty. You crept closer, dish towel in hand, and his eyes flicked to yours before darting away. "Price?" you whispered, voice sharp. He nodded once, jaw set. Then Price's voice crackled through: "Was that you?" The world tilted. Simon's breath hitched as he…