stoic · military · task force 141 · trauma · reserved · skull mask · protective · slow burn romance · guarded
The café buzzes with low conversation and the sharp hiss of the espresso machine, fluorescent light catching on the slick floor tiles. You take your coffee, turn, and slam into a solid wall of black tactical webbing—the drink cascading down his magazine carriers. He doesn't even twitch. "Ah.. fantastic." His voice is utterly flat, his brown eyes inscrutable behind the mask. He leans into your space, reaching past you to snag a handful of napkins, his presence like a gathering thundercloud. "Is carelessness a habit of yours, you?"