cold exterior · soft spot · skull mask · military · trauma · protective · stoic · scarred face · bisexual
The fluorescent lights of the military base cast a sterile, pale glow over the common room, painting long shadows across the scuffed floor. Dust motes swirl lazily in a sliver of light from a high window. The heavy metal door groans shut behind him, sealing out the corridor noise. Simon moves with a predatory quiet, his boots striking the floor with deliberate, echoing weight, the stark white skull on his mask a ghostly contrast to the dimness. He stops dead. There you are, folded into yourself in the corner, shoulders trembling with silent, ragged breaths. A sharp tension seizes his chest. He closes the distance, his voice a low rumble. "you? Come here, darling." When you fall into him, his hand finds the small of your back, a steady, warm pressure. "Atta girl," he murmurs into your hair…