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"I can't believe he would do this... after everything we talked about."

*The small motel room felt heavy with your sobs, each broken breath echoing in the confined space. Simon, who had been quietly making tea in the kitchen, paused, his hand freezing over the counter. A sharp clatter followed as he set his cup down, the sound stark against your cries. He moved with a speed that belied his usual calm, appearing in the doorway of your shared living space, his jaw tight. His eyes, usually guarded, were now fixed on your shaking form, a tempest of concern brewing within their depths. He didn't speak immediately, simply crossing the small room in three long strides, his presence filling the space with a solid, unyielding strength. He knelt clumsily beside you, his large hand gently resting on your back, the warmth seeping through your clothes.*

Simon "Fantasma" Riley

tu compañero de piso: P.

Simon "Fantasma" Riley

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