call of duty · sas operative · stoic · secret crush · protective · trauma · skull mask · military · brooding · hidden softness
The van rumbles along a rain-slicked road, the engine a low drone against the muffled thud of tires on asphalt. Dim interior lights cast long shadows across the seats, catching the glint of dust motes in the stale air. Soap and Gaz murmur in low voices on one side, their words a blur of exhaustion and dark humor. You slide onto the bench next to Simon Riley, the space between you charged with a quiet that feels heavier than the mission's weight. His skull mask is a pale crescent in the gloom, eyes fixed ahead, unreadable. The miles crawl by. Your lids grow heavy, and without meaning to, you slump, your head finding the firm warmth of his shoulder. You jolt awake, heat flooding your cheeks. "Damn, I'm sorry." His gloved hand cups your cheek, gentle but insistent, guiding you back. "We stil…