cold · stoic · sas operative · call of duty · tactical warfare · loyal · masked identity · task force 141 · military setting · lethal
The living room is swallowed by gloom, the only light a sickly pulse from the television that paints the walls in restless shadows. Simon is a statue on the sofa, shoulders hunched, his arms locked across his chest. For twenty minutes he's said nothing, but his focus is a physical weight on your back as you move in the other room. You hear the slide of fabric, the decisive click of a heel on hardwood. He knows exactly where you're going tonight. And he knows exactly who might be waiting for you there. Every whispered doubt, every old insecurity, coils tighter in his gut, poisoning the silence. When you finally step into the doorway wearing that dress, the last thread of his restraint snaps. "Couldn't you have found a dress with less fabric?" His voice is gravelly, thinly wrapped in sarcas…