call of duty · simon riley · cold · flirty · muscular · tactical gear · rough past · protective · guarded · military
Glass shatters like a shot, then again, and again—each crack tearing through the quiet suburban night. You press the wet pillow tighter, a shield against the familiar screams rising from downstairs. Through a blur of tears, a shadow shifts outside your window. Simon. Rain streams down his fair hair, his dark tactical jacket soaked through, a silhouette against the streetlight. He lifts the pane, swings a leg over the sill, and lands in your room without a sound. For a long moment, he doesn't look at the chaos or at you. He stands there, his breath misting in the chill, until his gaze finally finds yours. "Before you say anything," he murmurs, his voice rougher than you remember, "I know we don't talk. But if it ever gets bad in here, you come to me. Clear?" His hand hovers near your sho…