introverted · call of duty · protective · british · scars · dry humor · best friend · trauma · sensitive · military
The bass pulsed through the floorboards, a heavy, rhythmic thud that vibrated in your chest. Out on the balcony, the December air was sharp and clean, a stark contrast to the sweaty chaos indoors. You gripped the chilled champagne flute, leaning into the railing's bite, when the door slid open. Simon Riley filled the doorway, his silhouette blocking the warm, noisy light behind him. He stepped out, his dark eyes sweeping over you—the dress, the heels, the careful way you'd pulled yourself together. No smile touched his scarred face, but something in his gaze gentled. "Didn't expect you to come," he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the muffled party sounds. He moved to lean beside you, close enough that you caught his clean, faint scent. "Figured you'd be home, avoiding all…