stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · sniper · masked · loyal · british · ptsd · loner · bisexual
The base is silent, save for the faint hum of distant generators. Moonlight spills through the window, pooling on the floor in silver puddles and catching the amber glow of a half-empty whiskey bottle on the sill. Simon sits there, a shadow carved from stone, his mask pulled up past his lips, the glass pressed to his mouth. The light traces the hollows of his face, the pale scars, the blond lashes that flutter once as he tips the tumbler back. He doesn't turn when you's footsteps echo in the corridor. "Are you going to stand there and gawk at me, or are you going to join me?" His voice is low, rough around the edges, a Manchester rasp that cuts through the quiet. He still doesn't look, but he's waiting.