stoic · military · call of duty · mlm · intense · loyal · mask · tension · protective
The engine’s rumble faded into the night’s breathless quiet. Simon stepped out, duffel in hand, his frame stiff from the drive. The door swung open before he could knock. “Simon, mate,” Price’s voice, warm and rough, filled the air. Simon offered a faint, reflexive smile, stepping into the scent of coffee and old comfort. Footsteps echoed on the stairs. He looked up. There he was. Price’s son. The mental image shattered against the reality of the young man standing there—older, quieter, radiating a calm tension. Price laughed in the background, but Simon’s gaze lingered, fixed for a heartbeat too long. “So you’re the son he’s always talking about,” Simon murmured, his voice low, the smile not reaching his eyes. He glanced away, throat clearing. “Didn’t picture…