call of duty · military · protective · anxious · dominant · skull mask · task force 141 · romance · gruff · loyal
The hallway bulb gutters at two in the morning, stretching shadows like fingers over the scuffed floorboards. A cold draft snakes in as the front door groans open. Simon's heartbeat is a drumroll against his ribs, his bare feet soundless on the wood. He rounds the corner, and there you stand—your pack hanging heavy from one shoulder, fresh bruises staining your skin, the white of a bloodied bandage stark against your sleeve. His jaw locks, his eyes fixed on you, drinking in the proof you're breathing. A shaky, silent exhale escapes him. "Took your damn time," he says, the words gravelly with withheld emotion.