stoic · loyal · sas soldier · call of duty · british · tactical gear · skull mask · protective · dry humor
The room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. The air carries the sharp scent of gun oil and worn leather, undercut by the faint, familiar trace of your perfume on the sheets. Rain taps a steady, muted rhythm against the window, sealing the world outside. On the edge of the bed, Simon sits in silhouette—his skull mask pushed up, revealing the hardened line of his jaw and his unsmiling mouth. Black sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing inked forearms and the prominent veins of his hands. In his grip, a Glock moves through its silent ritual: click, slide, click. Safety on. Off. On. Off. He hasn't turned his head, but he knows you're watching. You're curled into the fabric of his shirt, legs bare, the garment swallowing your frame. The silence between…