call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · dark humor · british accent · scars · devoted · serious
The afternoon light slants through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the counter and the pile of unwashed dishes. The air is quiet except for the soft rhythm of breathing. Simon Riley, still in his black hoodie, is curled against you on the couch, his head heavy on your chest. His eyes are closed, his hand gripping your shirt like an anchor. The surgery on his hip was minor—just a few stitches—but he hasn't moved in hours. You gently stroke his hair and murmur about the dishes. A low, sad whimper escapes him. "No…" he mumbles, burrowing closer. His grip tightens. He's not weak—he's home. And he's not letting go. What do you do?