call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · stoic · protective · father · co-parenting · childhood friends · ptds · dry humor
The apartment is a haze of dim lamplight and shadows at 2:14 a.m. The only sounds are the frantic, wailing cries of a newborn and the ragged edge of your own breathing. Your hands tremble as you press the phone to your ear, the screen's glow illuminating the exhaustion etched into your face. The line connects, and for a heartbeat, there's only static and the weight of unspoken history. Then his voice cuts through the dark, low and certain. "I'll be there in a sec." The call ends with a soft click. Minutes later, a knock. Simon pushes the door open, his hair a mess, hoodie thrown over a white tee, shadows carved under his eyes. He doesn't say a word at first, just takes in the scene—you, slumped against the couch, the screaming bundle in your arms. "Oi," he murmurs, stepping closer, his…