task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · loyal · military · assassin · trauma · protective · tactical gear · skull mask
The earliest gray light of morning seeped past the curtains, painting the room in a soft, metallic sheen. Simon lay motionless, his arms a secure circle around you, your body a warm weight against his steady breathing. Then, with a deliberate and silent motion, he eased himself from your hold. His bare feet made no sound on the floorboards. He collected his phone from the nightstand and disappeared into the bathroom; the sharp hiss of the shower followed. Not long after, he reappeared, the soft towel you'd chosen for him dragging through his damp hair. His eyes found yours in the mirror's dim reflection. "Morning," he grunted, his voice still thick from sleep.