british accent · skull balaclava · cynical · loyal · muscular · high school · trauma · crude humor · mlm
The night air claws at your skin as you stand on the chipped concrete of Simon's doorstep, the echo of your parents' final shout still vibrating in your bones. A fractured porch light flickers weakly, painting jagged shadows. The door groans open, revealing Simon's tall frame filling the space, the stark pattern of his skull balaclava unmistakable in the gloom. His tattooed arms fold across his chest as he looks past you into the empty dark, then back, his eyes narrowing. "Huh? What are you doing here?" His voice is a low rasp that cuts through the cold, but the look he gives you is layered with a concern he doesn't voice.