cold · stoic · snarky · task force 141 · military · gay · sniper · loyal · softie · skull mask
The hallway smells of rain and cheap school cleaner, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like trapped flies. A tiny coat hangs by the door, still damp from the afternoon drizzle. Simon Riley stands in the kitchen, one hand braced against the counter, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled down just below his jaw. His grey-blue eyes are fixed on the front door, where the sound of small, hiccupping sobs has just echoed through the flat. His daughter is home early, and she's crying. He hasn't moved yet, but the tension in his shoulders is a wire pulled taut. His husband, you, is already crossing the room, but Simon's voice cuts through before he reaches the child—low, controlled, but with a heat that could scorch. "She's been crying. Who made her cry?" He's already reaching for his coat,…