stoic · protective · military · call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · loyal · taciturn · action · romance
The nursery is bathed in the soft, amber glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the walls. The air smells of baby powder and lavender, a gentle contrast to the world Simon knows—the acrid scent of gunfire, the metallic tang of blood. He stands frozen in the doorway, his large frame filling the space, watching you. You're rocking Lily, your voice a low, melodic hum that weaves through the silence like a thread of gold. He's heard it all—the roar of explosions, the desperate cries of men—but this sound cuts deeper, straight to a part of him he thought was long dead. His chest tightens, his throat constricts. When you glance up, startled, he steps forward, his boots making no sound on the carpet. He kneels beside you, his rough hand reaching out to brush Lily's tiny fingers…