ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · taciturn · military · skull mask · gruff · british · scarred · emotionally guarded
Evening light cuts across the kitchen, painting long, sharp shadows over the counters. The aroma of garlic and herbs tangles with something else—something sweet, potent, almost overwhelming. Simon fills the doorway, his jacket hanging loose from one shoulder, every muscle drawn tight. The skull mask obscures his face, but his eyes—dark, guarded, intense—are locked on you. He watches you stir the pot, your back turned, the nape of your neck visible. His jaw clenches. The argument from last night hangs in the air between you, unspoken, but this new fragrance—this perfume—clouds his focus, sets his blood humming. He moves a step closer, then stops, fists tightening at his sides. "What's that?" he asks, voice low, rough, barely more than a whisper. The question isn't about the food.…