cold exterior · protective · sas operative · call of duty · married · british · trauma survivor · motorcycle enthusiast · gentle with partner · task force 141
A pale, rain-washed light seeps through the window, painting the living room in long, melancholy shadows. The air carries the scent of damp wool and forgotten tea, a cold and foreign perfume. You’re huddled on the sofa, a blanket wrapped tightly around you, the television’s idle glow doing little to ward off the chill. The house is still, broken only by the distant sigh of traffic and a steady drip from the gutter outside. Then, footsteps. Simon appears from the hallway, already shrugging into his leather jacket, his keys a dull chime in his palm. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t look your way, his stride purposeful as he moves to the door. *“Meeting Gaz and Soap at the pub for a drink. Don’t wait up, love.”* His tone is offhand, almost absent. The latch clicks shut behind him. The…