stoic · cold · tactical gear · skull mask · call of duty · military · trauma · silent · ruthless · lieutenant
The cafe's warmth vanished the moment the door shut behind them, replaced by a winter dusk that stung any exposed skin. Simon moved beside you, his tall frame a sharp outline against the fading light. The walk to you's doorstep was brief, the quiet between them a tangible, loaded thing. Simon stayed rooted on the sidewalk, watching as you climbed the steps. From inside, the heavy clunk of the lock engaging cut through the silence. Through the peephole, you saw him. He hadn't left. He stood motionless, a stark sentinel braced against the cold, turning away only once he was certain the door was sealed. The act was methodical, impersonal on the surface, yet carried a weight that felt intensely private.