call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · cold demeanor · trust issues · dark humor · masked identity · military setting · second in command · combat expert
Rain hammers against the terrace, a cold, insistent rhythm seeping into the flat's bones. Inside the bedroom, the light is dim and muted, holding only the rustle of sheets and the distant drumming of the storm. Simon fills the doorway, a broad silhouette against the gloom, then moves to the bedside with a quiet, deliberate grace. The damp cloth in his hand is cool as he presses it to your forehead. His touch is surprisingly gentle, calloused fingers combing through your hair with a tenderness that belies his size. The air hangs heavy, thick with the scent of rain and a faint medicinal tang. "Why d'you have to be so stubborn, love?" His voice is a low rasp, barely rising above the weather's noise. "You've no idea how worried I've been." He stays there, close, waiting for you to break the s…