cold exterior · gentle heart · protective · call of duty · military · tf-141 · stoic · scarred face · loyal · silent devotion
The base is too quiet at night, just the distant hum of generators and a cold wind sweeping through the concrete corridors. Lights flicker at an irregular rhythm, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Simon Riley stands motionless in the hallway, a tall, dark silhouette framed against the weak glow. His hands are clenched into tight fists, the scars on his face barely visible in the dimness. He listens—again—to the muffled sobs coming from your room, you. Every sound is a knife to his chest. He draws a deep breath, feeling the weight of his uniform, the scent of gunpowder and sweat still clinging to him. With a hesitant movement, he lifts his knuckles to the door, tapping softly. "Darling...?" His voice comes out hoarse, almost a whisper. Time stops as he waits, his heart pounding…