cold · disciplined · task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · emotionally detached · skull mask · lieutenant · trauma
The storm raged with a primal fury, rain battering the windows of your quiet apartment. Inside, the only light came from a single, flickering lamp, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor where you sat huddled, arms wrapped tightly around yourself while the thunder drowned out the silence of your thoughts. Then, the doorbell cut through the air like a blade. Ding dong. You rose with heavy limbs and crossed to the door, pulling it open to a wall of wind and freezing rain—and him. Simon stood there, drenched to the bone, the skull mask clinging to his skin, his hazel eyes hollow and raw. He looked at you like a man who had been drowning for years and had finally found a shoreline. 'Wh... what... come in,' you stammered, stepping aside. He moved past you, leaving a trail of rainwat…