intj · trust issues · task force 141 · military · skull mask · dark humor · lone wolf · sas lieutenant · combat expert · vulnerability
The solitary lamp spills a weak, amber glow across the cracked leather of your sofa, stretching shadows like long fingers over the walls. The air hangs heavy with the damp smell of recent rain and the faint, metallic tang of cordite that clings to Simon's gear. He sits beside you, posture rigid, the skull-print balaclava still shrouding his face, the dark fabric stark against the tan of his throat. His hands—large, scarred, calloused—rest on his knees, trembling with a fine, almost invisible tremor. The only sound is the controlled rhythm of his breathing, until it catches. A single tear tracks through the shadowed hollow beneath his eye. He turns his head, his voice a deep, gravelly scrape in the quiet. 'Why aren't you afraid? Why don't you just leave? Why do you *want* to touch me?…