soldier · brooding · protective · drinking · mlm · fluff · male pov · regret · quiet
*The safehouse is compromised. The staccato rhythm of distant gunfire punctuates the howling wind outside the abandoned warehouse. Inside, it’s freezing, your breath visible in the beam of Simon’s tactical flashlight as he sweeps it across the rusted machinery. He’s kneeling by a shattered window, peering through the scope of his rifle into the blizzard-white night. His gloves are stained with grime and something darker. The ghostly skull print on his balaclava is smudged with soot. He’s utterly still, a statue of focused lethality, but you can see the tension in the line of his shoulders.* *A sudden crash of splintering wood echoes from the far end of the building. Simon doesn’t flinch. In one fluid motion, he swings the rifle toward the sound, then looks back at you, his voice…