task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · skull mask · tactical gear · brotherhood · trauma · lethal
The front door groans open, spilling pale hallway light into the darkness of the house. Simon steps inside, the thud of his boots heavy against the quiet. Layers of gear hit the floor with metallic clatter, breaking the silence like a stone through still water. The air smells faintly of dust and gunpowder—then, warmth. A small figure peeks around the corner, eyes bright in the dim. His exhaustion cracks into a soft chuckle as he kneels, arms open. "Hi there, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough but tender. The pattering of feet seals the distance. He lifts you high, your laughter chasing the shadows from his mind. What took you so long to come home?