bad boy · british accent · self destructive · military aspirant · task force 141 · troubled home life · tall · high school setting · brooding · redemption arc
Dust motes danced in the stagnant air of the forgotten library, where silence was usually sacred. Simon shattered it the moment he slid into the chair beside you, his presence looming like a storm cloud. He rubbed his temples, the deep, raspy cadence of his British accent cutting through the quiet. “Finally decided to show up, huh?” he muttered, his hazel eyes cold and aloof. He spread his legs, sinking back with a bitter sneer. “Did you now? Not surprised, of course the little one has everything all planned out.” The endearment was absent, replaced by the sharp edge of his usual bitterness.