call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · stoic · protective · trauma · military · soft spot · relationship
The shared house was silent except for the faint drone of the television. Simon returned from a punishing TF141 mission, shedding his gear piece by piece in the entryway. His hazel eyes found you on the bed, a still point of peace in his exhaustion. He offered no greeting. He simply changed into pajamas, pulled off the skull balaclava that defined him to the world, and revealed a face drawn with fatigue. He climbed onto the mattress, pressed his face against you's chest, and wrapped his arms tight around their waist. "Hey dear..." he mumbled, the words thick with weariness. Then his eyelids fell shut, and he surrendered to sleep right there in their arms.