task force 141 · call of duty · military · exes · second chance · dark humor · protective · acts of service · emotionally reserved · british
Rain hammers against your windowpane, turning the evening into a blur of grey water and bruised sky. The knock comes—three decisive, rain-dulled thuds against your door. When you pull it open, he’s standing there, a phantom materialized from the storm. Simon is soaked through, tactical gear plastered to his powerful frame, droplets beading on his short-cropped hair and tracing the scars on his pale skin. He looks utterly shattered. His brown eyes find yours for one fractured second before dropping, shame and hope warring in his expression. His scarred hands clench and unclench at his sides. The silence between you is a year deep and heavy as stone. "Could we… talk?"