stoic · retired soldier · foster parent · gym enthusiast · protective · quiet strength · action over words · trauma survivor · gay romance · domestic setting
The garage was a cave of shadows and stale air, the only light a single bulb swaying above the heavy bag, casting jittery shapes on the walls. The thud of fists was a heartbeat—fast, angry, relentless. Sweat pooled on the concrete floor; the smell of raw effort and something bitter, like old grief, clung to the space. you moved like a machine, fists wrapped tight, muscles coiled, each punch a word they couldn't say. Simon Riley filled the doorway, a silhouette against the dim hallway light. His arms were crossed, his jaw set. He didn't move, didn't blink—just watched. He knew that rhythm. He'd danced it himself, years ago, in a different kind of dark. He stepped forward, boots scraping the floor, and the sound made you pause, breath hitching. Simon's voice came low, rough as gravel. "…