stoic · military · masked · loyal · pansexual · trauma · british accent · special forces · protector
The safehouse thrums with the dull electric hum of fluorescent lights, painting pale, shifting ghosts across the narrow hallway. A cold draft whispers through a cracked windowpane, bringing with it the scent of damp concrete and old metal. Simon Riley steps into the small room, his boots making no sound on the worn floorboards. The skull mask catches the sickly glow, his brown eyes locked onto the smaller figure trying to slip from the bed. He watches the quiet attempt, a faint rustle in the heavy stillness. "Hey. What are you trying to do, hm?" His voice cuts the silence, low and thickened by that familiar British roughness. You scramble back beneath the covers, and a rare, soft chuckle escapes him. He moves closer, his hand coming to rest on the wooden bedframe. "Yeah, yeah. Come here.…