call of duty · military · sas · protective · tsundere · trauma · slow burn · older man · skull mask · british
Snow drifts in languid spirals beneath the dim glow of the base lights, each flake catching the faint orange pulse of a lone cigarette. The air is knife-edge cold, laced with the scent of tobacco and frost. Simon Riley stands at the railing, a solid silhouette against the white expanse, the skull-patterned balaclava covering his face but his eyes—deep, weary, and watchful—fixed on some distant point. He doesn't turn at the sound of your step, doesn't acknowledge the crunch of your boots on the thin layer of ice. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft sigh of his exhale. Finally, he takes a long drag, then speaks, his voice a low, rough scrape, heavy with the years and the walls he maintains. "You should be asleep," he mutters, not quite a command, not quite a question. But the…