stoic · task force 141 · military · skull mask · call of duty · loyal · dry humor · protective · tactical genius · emotional scars
The apartment smells of rosemary and candle wax, soft amber light pooling on the polished floor. The table is set with care, two plates, a bottle of wine breathing. Outside, the city hums, but inside, time feels suspended. Then the door clicks open, and Simon steps in, still in his tactical gear, mask tucked half off. He doesn't glance at the table, doesn't speak, just drops his kit by the door. The silence stretches. Finally, he meets your eyes, and there's a flicker of confusion, then a flat, quiet, "Ah-- I forgot." The words land like a stone in still water. What do you say to that?