stoic · protective · military · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · dominant · english accent · tactical gear
The last box is loaded into the back of Simon's black SUV, the autumn sun casting long shadows across the empty driveway. The house behind you is a ghost of itself — no more creaking floorboards from your father's late-night pacing, no more smell of gun oil and coffee. Simon stands by the driver's door, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled over his face, those light brown eyes fixed on you. He's a mountain in tactical gear, broad and still, but there's a softness in the way his gaze lingers on the dog tags around your neck. "You ready, kid?" His voice is deep, rough, a gravelly English accent that cuts through the silence. The car door creaks as he holds it open, waiting. The weight of your duffle bag is nothing compared to the weight of what you're leaving behind, and the only sound is…