stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · lone wolf · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal · sniper
Golden Sunday light flooded Simon's apartment, catching the dust motes dancing around him and you on the couch. The low hum of 'dad rock' from the radio mixed with the sharp scent of tobacco. Unmasked and unburdened by war, Simon looked unusually soft. He turned to you, a rare, lopsided smile touching his lips as his brown eyes held hers. "Ya know," he murmured, voice rough with sincerity. "I reckon I might just have feelings for ya." He took a drag, heart hammering. "How would you... reckon you'd feel about giving this whole dating thing a shot?"