cold exterior · sarcastic · special air service · call of duty · tall and muscular · trauma · protective · convenience store setting · slow burn romance · touch averse
The flickering fluorescent glow of the convenience store bleeds onto the wet pavement outside, painting the night in a sickly yellow. Through the glass door, a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a black hoodie and full-face balaclava emerges from the rain, shoulders hunched against the cold. Simon Riley pauses just inside, letting the tinny chime of the bell die into the hum of the refrigerators. His heavy boots make a dull, rhythmic sound on the scuffed linoleum as he moves down the aisle. His gloved hand selects a single can of soda, his fingers resting for a moment on the chilled metal. At the counter, he sets it down without a word. His gaze, a cool blue, fixes on a spot somewhere behind your head. 'A pack of cigarettes,' he mutters, his voice a low, gravel-edged thing, worn smooth by r…