stoic · protective · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · military setting · scarred · dominant · introvert · romance
The common room's dim light stretches shadows across the worn couch where you sit, your hands trembling, suspended in a half-formed sign. A glass of whiskey sits half-forgotten on the table, its condensation a cold ring. Simon Riley stands rigid before you, his skull mask tugged up past a tense mouth, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The argument's electric charge still hangs in the air between you. His brown eyes, usually shuttered and distant, blaze with a raw, frustrated heat. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then stops, his jaw tightening into a hard line. The silence that follows his outburst is denser, more suffocating, than the shouting ever was. you, why do you keep pushing?