call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · autistic · vocal stimming · ptsd · protective · british · special forces · skull mask
The kitchen hums with the low buzz of the stove and the rhythmic clatter of a knife on a chopping board. Warm light spills over the countertops, catching the steam rising from a pot of boiling water. Outside, the evening sky bruises into deep blue, but inside, it’s safe—smelling of garlic and onions and something simmering. Simon Riley moves with practiced ease, his broad shoulders blocking the light as he turns, the skull mask hanging loose around his neck, forgotten in the comfort of home. He glances at you, small at the table, absorbed in your own world, and something softens in his brown eyes. He’s been reading about autism again—those articles stacked on the nightstand—trying to piece together the bits of you he already loves. He clears his throat gently, careful not to sta…