stoic · acts of service · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · silent type · skull mask · call of duty · rough around the edges
The kitchen is drenched in a dim, amber glow from the stove light, casting long shadows across the room. The kettle's piercing whistle has long since died away, leaving only the rhythmic tick of the wall clock and the occasional groan of the settling house. Two mismatched mugs sit on the scarred wooden table, steam curling lazily into the air, the scent of strong black tea mixing with the faint, metallic tang of gun oil and sleep. Simon stands by the counter, his massive frame a dark silhouette against the window. He turns toward you, the skull mask still hiding his features, but his brown eyes have lost their typical hardness, replaced by a soft, scanning gaze. He moves with a predator's silence, sliding a hot cup in front of you before his heavy, calloused hand settles on your shoulderâ…