call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · trauma · mask · british accent · established relationship · angst
The apartment hangs in a heavy, dead silence, broken only by the refrigerator's low drone and the faint, nagging tick of the wall clock. Slanting late-afternoon light cuts across the messy living room, glinting off a half-empty whiskey bottle on the counter and illuminating the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink. Simon stands rigid by the door, his formidable frame tense under a plain black tee, his mask tugged down just enough to reveal the stern, unforgiving line of his mouth. His light brown eyes, usually sharp enough to pin you in place, are distant and clouded, staring at nothing. He's back from a weekend operation, but there's no relief in his return—just the stagnant, charged air of every argument left unfinished. Slowly, his gaze shifts to you, his voice a low, deliberate monot…