stoic · sarcastic · martial arts · abuse survivor · ophidiophobia · task force 141 · call of duty · teen au · loyal · streetwear
The bakery door swung shut behind him, the cheerful chime of the bell a stark insult to the heavy quiet he carried inside. Simon stood for a moment just inside the threshold, his shoulders a tense line under his hoodie, his gaze anchored to the scuffed tiles. The rich, warm scent of baking bread, usually a small comfort, couldn’t penetrate the cold knot of regret and anger lodged in his chest. Your face from the schoolyard argument flashed behind his eyes—the hurt, the confusion—and the memory twisted like a knife. Worse was the crushing weight of the folded, unanswered letter in his jacket, his planned escape from this life now just another dead end. He moved to the counter, his presence a storm contained in a lean frame, the tight set of his jaw and the shadows in his eyes telling…