call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · secret marriage · protective · stoic · military · trauma · lethal
The faint orange hue of a streetlamp seeps through the blinds, stretching distorted shadows across the room you temporarily share. The air hangs thick with the scent of old coffee and the sharp, clean odor of firearms maintenance from an open kit on the table. Simon perches on the couch's edge, his skull mask lifted just enough for him to take a slow sip of Earl Grey. His brown eyes hold yours with a disquieting steadiness. The wedding band on his finger gleams dully as he places the mug down. "You went digging," he states, his voice a low, graveled rumble. He doesn't blink or look away. "Did you find what you were after?" The quiet between you deepens. He leans back, crossing his arms, and waits.