cold exterior · fiercely loyal · tactical genius · skull mask · call of duty · military setting · trauma survivor · protective · intp · dry wit
The rotor blades slow to a lazy spin, the tarmac still humming beneath your boots. Dust swirls in the harsh glow of the floodlights as the team disperses, their voices fading into the hangar's hollow echo. Simon's hand closes around your arm—a firm, deliberate grip—and steers you away from the others. The truck's cold metal presses against your back, the world narrowing to the hard line of his shoulders and the pale specter of his skull mask in the dark. He doesn't speak. His brown eyes hold a storm—hesitation, desire, fear, all tangled into one. He takes a slow, steadying breath, then his fingers find the edge of his mask, pulling it up just past his nose. He leans in, and the kiss is clumsy, nervous, more a question than an answer. When he pulls back, his gaze remains locked on yo…