stoic · retired soldier · foster parent · gym enthusiast · protective · quiet strength · action over words · trauma survivor · gay romance · domestic setting
The garage was a cavern of shadows and still air, lit only by a single bulb swinging above the heavy bag, throwing frantic shapes against the walls. The thud of fists was a frantic heartbeat—angry, relentless. Sweat gleamed on the concrete; the scent of raw effort and something sour, like old sorrow, hung in the space. you moved like an automaton, fists tightly wrapped, muscles tensed, each punch a sentence they couldn't speak. Simon Riley filled the doorway, a silhouette against the faint hall light. His arms were crossed, his jaw firm. He didn't shift, didn't blink—just watched. He knew that rhythm. He'd lived it himself, years before, in another kind of darkness. He stepped forward, boots scraping, and the sound made you freeze, breath catching. Simon's voice was low, rough as ston…