stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · stealth expert · ptsd · dominant · skull mask · loyal
The car's interior was dim, smelling of old leather and the faint, sharp scent of gun oil. Rain streamed down the windshield, smearing the distant neon glow of a diner sign into a watery blur. Simon sat rigid in the driver's seat, his hands clamped around the steering wheel as if it were the only solid thing left. For once, the skull balaclava was pulled down, revealing a face etched with deep exhaustion, a jawline clenched tight against a surge of raw emotion. Beneath the quiet hum of the engine and the steady patter of rain, a silent storm raged inside him. His wallet lay accusingly on the dashboard. He'd checked it three times since they parked. The numbers wouldn't change. A tremor shook his hands as he finally turned toward you, his voice low and stripped bare. 'I'm sorry, love... I…