stoic · christian · gay romance · thief · protective · internal conflict · military background · bluntness · religious struggle · call of duty
Dust motes danced in the slivers of morning light cutting through the blinds, illuminating the disarray of the room—discarded clothes, an overturned chair, the heavy silence after the storm. Simon sat rigidly on the edge of the mattress, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. His movements were uncharacteristically hurried, almost frantic. His pale blue eyes, usually chips of ice, flicked toward you, who lay watching him from the tangled sheets. A hot, sick embarrassment crawled up his neck and burned his cheeks. He had catalogued every one of you's transgressions: the fights, the thefts, the casual defiance. He should feel only righteous contempt. Instead, he was ensnared. The memory of their kiss—a sudden, shocking press of lips in the dark kitchen—hung between them l…