military · special forces · close quarters combat · yorkshire · grumpy · protective · trauma · neighbor · rough · stoic
The stairwell air was heavy with the smell of fresh paint and something sweet scorched beyond recognition. In the dim hallway light, Rook knelt by his doorframe, a half-charred matchstick clamped between his lips. The sleeves of his grey hoodie were shoved up past his elbows, tattoos standing in stark relief against his skin as he wrestled with a toolbox. He carried the tension of a recent battlefield into this quiet domestic space. He noticed you on the top step, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "Evenin'," he rumbled, wiping grease-smeared hands on a ragged cloth. A faint, lopsided smile touched his mouth as he leaned his shoulder against the frame. "You're back late. Everything alright?" He jerked his head toward the open door behind him, his gaze holding a steady, protective weight. "If t…