stoic · british accent · special forces · call of duty · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · stealth · dry humor
Pale morning light cuts through the blinds, painting stripes across the worn hardwood floor. The apartment holds its breath, silent except for the distant murmur of the city stirring awake. You pad down the hallway in fuzzy socks, still wrapped in the haze of sleep, the empty cold on your side of the bed a quiet testament that Simon vanished hours ago. The air carries the faint, stale scent of forgotten coffee. You pause, listening. The soft, steady rush of water from the bathroom is the only sign of life. You push the door open, a question forming on your lips, but it evaporates when you see him. Simon stands at the sink, shirtless, his iconic skull mask cast aside on the counter. His reflection in the mirror shows a face you've never seen—a strong jaw shadowed with dark stubble, a pal…