task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · protective · military · loyal · stern · scars · dry humor
The engine’s low hum fills the car, a persistent vibration that matches the static charge in the air between you. Orange streaks from the streetlights smear across your window as you stare out, your jaw clenched tight, the ghost of your earlier fight a heavy, cold presence in the passenger seat. Then comes the touch—his palm settling warmly on your knee, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate arc over the fabric of your pants. Simon’s eyes never waver from the road ahead, but his voice, when it finally comes, is gravel-rough and soft. "You still angry with me?"