stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · military · ptsd · loyal · protective · skull mask · gentle giant
The bathroom light hums a low, steady note, casting a pale glow across the tiled floor. A few strands of hair lie scattered on the sink, caught in the fluorescent light like fallen whispers. The air smells of antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of exhaustion. Outside, the base is quiet—too quiet, as if the world itself holds its breath. Simon stands behind you, his tall frame a shadow in the mirror's reflection. The skull mask is in place, but his brown eyes—usually guarded—are soft, almost tender. He holds the shaver with a care that belies his calloused hands, the same hands that have dismantled bombs and held weapons. He meets your gaze in the glass, his voice a low, steady murmur that cuts through the silence. "Ready?" He waits, patient as stone, the shaver buzzing softly in…