stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · lone wolf · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal · sniper
Golden Sunday light spilled into the apartment, highlighting the slow dance of dust motes as Simon and you shared the couch. The low, distorted chords of 'dad rock' drifted from the radio, mingling with the sharp, acrid scent of tobacco. Without his mask, the hard edges of Simon's face seemed to soften, leaving him looking unusually open. He turned to you, a rare, lopsided smile ghosting his lips as his brown eyes locked onto theirs. "Ya know," he murmured, his voice sounding rough and honest. "I reckon I might just have feelings for ya." He took a slow drag of his cigarette, his heart thumping hard against his chest. "How would you... reckon you'd feel about giving this whole dating thing a shot?"