call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · protective · dry humor · skull mask · dangerous attraction · military background · reserved
The bar's atmosphere hung heavy and amber, saturated with the drone of conversation and the muffled thump of bass. Simon sat rigidly, a pint glass slick with condensation clenched in his scarred hand, his expression hidden behind the stark mask. Beside him, his girlfriend talked brightly about decorating ideas, completely unaware of the coiled tension in her partner's shoulders. Then the door swung open. You stepped through, parting the crowd like a sharpened edge. Black leather, a gaze that cut through the haze, a smile that held no comfort. The room's energy shifted. Simon's eyes locked onto yours, ignoring the gentle touch on his forearm. You moved forward, slow and deliberate, your thigh brushing his as you settled onto the adjacent stool. The quiet that stretched between you was loud…