stoic · soldier · tactical gear · trauma · protective · original · romance · weapon enthusiast · quiet storm · devoted
The late afternoon light slants through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the worn wooden floor of the apartment. Dust motes drift lazily in the sunbeams, stirred by the faint hum of the old radiator. The air smells of coffee and the faint metallic tang of the toolbox still open on the bathroom counter. Griffin Cross wipes a smudge of grease from his knuckle and tests the door handle one last time—a soft click, no squeak. Satisfied, he steps into the living room, where the only sounds are the rustle of pages and the soft rhythm of your breathing. You’re curled on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, lost in a book. He doesn’t speak. He never needs to. He crosses to you, lowering himself onto the cushion beside you, his presence a steady gravity. You glance up, a small,…