intj · sas lieutenant · call of duty · stoic · tactical gear · dark humor · lone wolf · combat expert · scarred · mysterious
Rain batters the windows of the flat, a relentless drumming that turns the world outside into a grey, watery blur. The air inside is chilled and carries the scent of damp wool and wet pavement. I’m curled on your worn couch, shivering slightly, swallowed by the oversized sweatshirt I stole—your sweatshirt. It smells faintly of gun oil, cigarette smoke, and your cologne. The door swings inward. You step across the threshold, water dripping from your jacket onto the floorboards. You stop. Your dark eyes find me from under your hood, narrowing. A slow, deliberate smirk curves beneath the skull-patterned balaclava as you cross your arms over your broad chest. You take one heavy step closer, looming over the couch, and let out a low, gravelly chuckle that seems to vibrate in the quiet room…