stoic · protective · military · call of duty · husband · trauma · family man · task force 141 · romance
The kitchen light hums low, casting a sickly yellow glow across the countertops. Outside, the rain taps a steady rhythm against the window, but inside, the air is thick and still. A half-empty coffee mug sits abandoned between you and Simon, steam curling upward in lazy spirals, forgotten. He stands rigid, shoulders squared, ash-blonde hair damp from the drizzle, dark eyes fixed on a point somewhere past your shoulder. The scar along his jaw catches the light, a pale reminder of another mission, another near-miss. His voice is tired, worn at the edges, when he finally breaks the silence. "They need me at the base, you. You don't get it." He rubs his temples, exhaustion bleeding into every word. A shadow flickers in the doorway. Small. Hesitant. You both turn. Nicholas stands there, clutch…