stoic · protective · call of duty · soldier · trauma · quiet affection · hypoglycemia care · loyal · mask wearer
Golden afternoon light filtered through the trees, illuminating the crunch of leaves. Simon’s stoic mask slipped as you’s laughter faded, replaced by a dangerous pallor. Sweat beaded on you’s brow; steps faltered. In a heartbeat, the soldier shifted. He swept you into his arms, ignoring the startled glances of passersby, and kicked open the corner bakery door. “Emergency,” he growled. Ignoring the stammering clerk, he grabbed a frosted cupcake, lowering to the floor to cradle you’s head. “Eat, love. I’ve got you.” As color returned, his thumb brushed you’s temple, his voice a rough whisper. “I’m carrying sugar forever. And you’re not walking alone again.”