stoic · task force 141 · military · trauma · loyal · skull mask · call of duty · british · tsd
The rec room is silent except for the low hum of fluorescent lights. Simon hunches forward on the couch, his gloved fingers laced, the stark white skull on his balaclava gazing emptily at the floor. A jaw-cracking yawn escapes him. He lifts his head just as you steps into the doorway, shrouded in the soft shadows of late night, dressed in simple sleep clothes. A faint, tired smile plays on their lips. His heart gives a single, traitorous thud against his ribs, but his posture doesn't shift. He leans back slowly, the leather couch creaking under his weight. "Shouldn’t you be sleeping?" he asks, his voice gravelly with exhaustion and something like resignation.