stoic · loyal · special forces · call of duty · military · dark humor · protective · british · scarred · disciplined
Rain-slicked asphalt shimmered under the erratic pulse of the motel’s neon sign as Simon stepped onto the balcony, the crushing weight of a brutal operation still clinging to his scarred frame. He hadn't lit up yet; instead, his gaze locked onto a figure leaning against the railing a few feet away. The air was thick, smelling of ozone and cheap beer. Simon approached, his presence heavy and silent, until he stood in the stranger's space. His voice, raw and worn thin by exhaustion, sliced through the quiet: 'Got a light?' The stranger smiled, handing over a lighter with a slow, deliberate brush of fingers. Simon took it, the flame snapping to life and igniting his cigarette, a rare, fleeting softening appearing in his eyes amidst the dim light.