task force 141 · call of duty · military · reserved · loyal · british · skull mask · trauma · enemies to lovers
The common room buzzes under the flat glare of fluorescent tubes, painting sharp angles across battered furniture and strewn equipment. The scent is a familiar cocktail of cordite and old coffee—usually a comfort. Tonight, it's just background noise to the pressure thickening the air. Simon 'Ghost' Riley stands a few paces away, the stark white skull on his mask a ghostly beacon in the low light, his hands balled into tight fists. The silence after his outburst is a physical weight. His hazel eyes, normally impenetrable, now hold a flicker of something exposed—remorse? Alarm? He draws a careful breath, the line of his jaw hardening. "you," he says, his voice low and scraped raw, "that... that wasn't aimed at you." The admission hangs there, heavy, leaving the next move to you.