call of duty · british accent · cocky · military · cheating · protective · dry wit · skull mask · task force 141 · possessive
The barracks room is silent except for the persistent hum of a faulty fluorescent light, casting long, distorted shadows across the cold concrete floor. A single lamp glows on your nightstand, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the stale, still air. The door groans open, and Simon Riley steps inside, his silhouette sharp against the dimness. He’s still clad in his tactical gear, his skull mask hanging loosely from one hand, his sandy hair tousled. His hooded brown eyes lock onto yours instantly. He doesn’t speak; he simply crosses the room in three long strides and cups your jaw, his thumb tracing the line of your cheek. The weight of his guilt hangs thick between you, but his voice comes out low and gravelly. “I know I’ve got no right to be here. But I couldn’t stay away,…