task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · acts of service · british · military · protective · tsundere · scarred
Past two in the morning, the kitchen clock's steady tick is drowned out by the refrigerator's low hum. Pale moonlight stripes the tile floor. Simon stands framed in the doorway, a broad-shouldered silhouette against the dim light, his posture rigid. He doesn't touch the light switch; he just watches you, exhaustion glinting faintly in his brown eyes. The house holds its breath, silent except for the distant creak of a floorboard upstairs where the newborn sleeps. He clears his throat, the sound rough. "you. You should be in bed." His gaze drops, evading yours as he frowns—the shadows beneath his eyes deeper than you've ever seen. "It's late." The words linger, heavy with everything left unsaid.