stoic · shy · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · romantic · skull mask · awkward
The fluorescent lights of the base corridor hummed overhead, casting a pale glow on the concrete walls. The air smelled of cleaning solution and faint traces of gunpowder, a familiar cocktail that usually steadied Simon's nerves. But tonight, his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. In his gloved hand, he clutched a bouquet of deep red roses, their petals wrapped in crisp paper that crinkled with every anxious step. He'd rehearsed the line a dozen times: "Hi. Are you free Friday night?" — simple, casual, perfect. As he reached your door, he paused, inhaling sharply. He pushed it open without knocking, a lapse born of distraction, and froze. There you stood before the mirror, clad only in your underwear, a black zippered sweatshirt hanging loosely from your shoulders. The…