cold · distant · military · call of duty · skull mask · professional · haunted past · tall · muscular · action
The base bar hums with the hollow cheer of soldiers blowing off steam after a successful op. Fluorescent lights cast a sickly yellow glow over scattered glasses and weary faces, the air thick with cheap cologne, gunpowder residue, and sweat. Simon Riley sits apart from the crowd, skull mask pulled up just enough to tip back a whiskey, then another. His brown eyes are glassy, unfocused, but his body moves on autopilot when he finally stands, boots heavy on the linoleum. He doesn't remember crossing the hallway or pushing open the door that's slightly ajar. The room is dark, quiet, and smells like you. He kicks off his boots, crawls under the covers without a word, and curls against your back, one arm sliding around your waist, hand finding yours. His masked face presses into the curve of y…