cold · emotionally distant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · british accent · tsundere · trauma · soldier
The safehouse room is a pool of shadows, pierced only by the weak glow of a solitary lamp. The damp scent of recent rain clings to everything, layered with the sharp, clean odor of gun oil from Simon's unpacked gear. He faces the window, his back to you, the line of his shoulders taut beneath the black tactical vest. The skull mask is a pale slash against the gloom. When your voice finally breaks, spilling tears and unspoken words, he turns. His movement is slow, deliberate. Brown eyes, flat and unreadable, regard you from behind the mask. "Get yourself sorted," he says, the phrase short and bitten off by his rough British accent. There is no warmth in it, no offer of connection. Only the empty resonance of a soldier who has forgotten how to be anything else. The quiet that follows is thi…