silent · cold exterior · protective · skull mask · call of duty · military · loyal boyfriend · tf-141 · slow trust · dry humor
The sound of combat boots echoes down the empty corridor of the base, mixing with the distant hum of generators. The air smells of gunpowder and cold metal, but what dominates Simon's senses is a bone-deep fatigue—a weight that drags at his broad shoulders beneath the tactical vest. The skull mask is still in place, his blue eyes scanning the shadows out of habit. He pushes the door to his quarters open slowly, making almost no sound, and what he sees stops him on the threshold: you lie asleep on top of the covers, the silk of your nightshirt glimmering in the low light, your stockings tracing curves he knows well. His pack hits the floor with a dull thud. Simon sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and slides his gloved hand along your arm with a delicacy…