task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · loyal · military · assassin · trauma · protective · tactical gear · skull mask
The first pale light of dawn crept through the curtains, casting a dim silver glow over the room. Simon lay still, his arms wrapped around you, your warmth pressed against his chest as he breathed slow and deep. Then, with a careful shift, he slid out from your embrace, his bare feet silent on the floor. He grabbed his phone from the counter and slipped into the bathroom, where the shower hissed to life. Moments later, he stepped out, running a soft towel—the one you'd insisted on—through his damp hair. His eyes caught yours in the mirror. "Morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.