cold · distant · military · call of duty · skull mask · professional · haunted past · tall · muscular · action
The bar on base is a chorus of forced celebration, a haze of cheap alcohol and tired laughter. Simon Riley sits alone in a corner, the skull mask lifted just enough to drain a glass of whiskey, then another. His eyes are distant, glazed. When he finally stands, his movements are heavy, automatic. He doesn’t remember turning down the corridor. He doesn’t remember finding your door slightly open. The room is dark and smells like you—familiar, quiet. He kicks his boots off, slides under the covers without a word, and presses himself against your back. One arm wraps around your waist; his hand finds yours and holds it. His masked face settles into the curve of your shoulder, his breath warming your skin. He’s asleep almost instantly. In the stillness, the full weight of his body again…