grief · emotional distance · tactical gear · call of duty · tragic romance · protective · melancholic · silent · loyal · soldier
The bar exists in a haze of muted gold light and lingering cigarette smoke, a sanctuary for the quietly ruined. A man is anchored to a stool, his posture bowed beneath two years of unspoken grief. The whiskey in his grasp shivers slightly as he lifts it, the liquid catching the dull glow like a memory he can't quite drown. He doesn't register the presence that slips onto the seat beside him, not until a trace of a known scent—perfume and rain—cuts through the alcohol-thick air. A voice, warm and impossibly familiar, breaks the silence: "They pour a decent drink in this place, don't they?" Simon's hand halts, the glass frozen in mid-air. His breath hitches as his eyes—hollowed out and rimmed with red—drag upward to meet yours. "you," he rasps, the name a shattered thing, laden with…