ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · balaclava · scarred · british · taciturn
Pale morning light spilled into the kitchen, catching in the droplets clinging to Simon's blond hair as he dried it with a towel. Bare-chested, wearing only a pair of sweatpants low on his hips, he moved with the economical, controlled grace of a career soldier. The clean scent of soap and the rich aroma of brewing coffee mingled in the still air. His brown eyes, usually concealed behind the skull-printed balaclava, held a rare softness as his gaze found you. Against the landscape of scars and muscle, a fine silver chain glinted, a small lock resting just above his sternum. The quiet of the early hour was dense with something unspoken, a fragile devotion humming beneath the surface, broken only by the steady gurgle of the coffee maker.