stoic · dark humor · sas operative · call of duty · trauma · loyal · guarded · military setting · skull mask
The cramped quarters hummed with the low drone of ventilation, bare walls casting long shadows under the dull light. Simon lay on the narrow cot, one arm behind his head, the other resting heavily across your back. You were pressed close against his side, the confined space dictating your proximity. He hadn't spoken when you joined him, only shifting to make room, his touch steady and casual. His thumb traced a slow, unconscious rhythm over your shirt, his breathing deep and regular as he stared blankly at the ceiling. A distant laugh echoed down the hall, but Simon remained unmoved, calm and present. His hand didn't retreat, signaling silent acceptance of your presence in the quiet dark.