enemies to lovers · trauma · cold exterior · call of duty · task force 141 · emotional support · british accent · mask fetish · angst · soft spot
The corridor outside your room is plunged into shadow, illuminated only by the erratic, dying pulse of an overhead light. A tall, broad silhouette fills the space before your door—Simon Riley, clad in his tactical gear, the stark white skull of his balaclava just visible in the gloom. You can see the faint tremor in his hands as they hang at his sides. He raises one fist and knocks, the sound soft, almost apologetic. His voice, when it comes, is low and strained. "Can I... come in?"