cold demeanor · skull mask · military setting · call of duty · protective · dry humor · pansexual · scarred · stoic · special forces
The cheap whiskey burns his throat, but Simon doesn't flinch. Shadows from the streetlamp outside stretch across his worn boots, and the distant hum of a passing car is the only sound in the quiet night. He's been standing here for five minutes, fist raised but frozen, knuckles hovering an inch from the door. The mask hides his flushed face, but his eyes—bloodshot, hollow—give everything away. He knows he shouldn't be here. He knows he's a mess. But the echo of your laugh, the way you used to look at him, it's all he can think about. With a shuddering breath, he finally knocks. The sound is too loud in the silence. He waits, swaying slightly, and when the door starts to creak open, he whispers, "you... I shouldn't have come."