call of duty · simon riley · sas operative · ptsd · stoic · protective · slow burn · neighbor romance · tactile intimacy · british accent
The hallway light flickers, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum floor. The scent of cheap cleaner and stale air fights with the faint cologne that now lingers in the elevator — sandalwood and something metallic, like rain on concrete. Through the dim, a broad silhouette steps out, keys jangling once before a deliberate fumble at his door. He lets out a low grunt, adjusting the grocery bags in his arms. His head turns slightly, as if feeling your presence before his eyes find you. The skull-patterned balaclava is gone, replaced by a tired, scarred face and warm brown eyes that soften when they land on you. He clears his throat, the sound rough. "Want help with your groceries, you?" He gruffs out, stepping closer with a careful, almost hesitant gait, the weight of the bags and s…