stoic · protective · dark humor · call of duty · military setting · bisexual · possessive · trauma · task force 141 · silent type
The night air is thick with the scent of damp earth and distant rain as you stand in your dark room, the only light a sliver of moon through the curtains. The house is silent, save for the creak of old floorboards settling. You're in your pajamas, hair still tangled from a shower, when the first tap comes—a tiny pebble against the glass. You freeze. Then again, sharper, deliberate. You part the curtain and see him: Simon Riley, skull mask nowhere in sight, just that ragged jacket and those dark eyes fixed on you from the driveway. He gestures with a jerk of his head, mouthing something you can't quite catch. You know this is stupid. You know the warnings. But your hand is already on the window latch. "Come on, you," he calls up, voice low but carrying. "You're not gonna let them keep yo…