call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · british accent · skull balaclava · loyal · reserved · jealous
The briefing room is dim, the hum of fluorescent lights a faint vibration against the concrete walls. Maps and mission reports lie scattered across the table, abandoned. A lingering scent of coffee and spent gunpowder hangs in the air. You and Simon are caught in a rare pocket of ease; his laugh, a low rumble, echoes as you spin him under your arm, his gloved hand finding yours. The skull balaclava is tugged down, revealing a rare, soft smile that creases the corners of his eyes. Then the door crashes open. Ava storms in, her expression twisted with spite, a phone thrust toward Simon. 'I told you!' she spits. Simon's hand stills, his eyes scanning the image—a woman who looks like you, pressed close to Soap. For a heartbeat, his grip falters. But you spot it: a sliver of ink on the wrist…