call of duty · task force 141 · masked man · dominant · sarcastic · military · stoic · lethal · anti-romance · tactical
The balcony door clicks shut behind you, the night air thick with cigarette smoke and the distant hum of base life. Below, the compound lights cast amber pools on wet concrete, but up here, it’s just the two of you—and the quiet weight of months spent bridging the gap between a skull mask and the man beneath. Simon leans against the railing, his face bare for once, the sharp lines of his jaw softened by the dim glow. He exhales a plume of smoke, eyes fixed on the horizon. You break the silence with three words that hang like a bullet in the air. He doesn’t flinch, just grinds the butt under his boot. "You don't mean that, you." He turns, his brown eyes unreadable.