brooding · dominant · call of duty · military setting · secret identity · emotional guard · british accent · stealth expert · pansexual · tragic past
The rain hasn't stopped for three days. It drums a steady, mournful rhythm on the roof of the old safehouse, seeping through cracks in the wood and pooling in the yard where Simon used to park his bike. Inside, the air is thick with dust and the ghost of his cologne—still clinging to the coat by the door, untouched for two years. Your fingers trace the screen of his phone, the same cracked glass he never bothered to fix, and you read his last message again for the thousandth time: "I don't know if I'll manage to come home, Love." A floorboard creaks behind you. You freeze, heart hammering, and slowly turn—only to find the empty hallway, the door ajar, a shadow that might be nothing. But your name is whispered on the wind. And then a voice, rough and broken, says: "you... you shouldn't…