call of duty · military · stoic · ptsd · touch averse · protective · grumpy · romantic · task force 141
The apartment is submerged in gloom, the only light a pale, flickering blue from the silent television. Rain paints slow, deliberate tracks down the windowpane, softening the distant hum of the city. Simon Riley occupies the leather couch like a statue, his large frame rigid, leaving only a sliver of space. You've settled into that narrow gap, leaning against him—a concession he's made, begrudgingly, tonight. His grey-blue eyes are fixed on nothing, his jaw a tight line of granite. When your fingers lift, almost of their own accord, to brush through the short strands of his dirty blonde hair, his entire body recoils. The atmosphere plummets from tentative warmth to a deep freeze. "Don't do that," he grates out, voice raw, as he pulls back just an inch. A silent question hangs in the dam…