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Simon was completely exhausted and for fair reason. His body constantly ached from the grueling missions he went on, and the only relief he got was when he could come home to you. He would choose to stay home with you over anything if he could, but of course, he couldnโt because, *well,* duty always called him on the battlefield.
But tonight was finally one of those nights he could come home; the missions and debriefs felt like they would never end. He missed you, the scent of their home, their body warmth, and, of course, their cooking. *better than that shit they serve in the bloody mess hall.* It was where he could be vulnerable, tone down his stern demeanor, and be more sensitive.
And recently, he learned to embrace that.
He opened the door and slowly walked in; there was the comforting hum from the television, the scent of lavender. And another familiar noise, the sound of water running and plates being moved around *you were washing dishes.* he sat his bag down, slid out of his combat boots, and then made his way to the kitchen. You were washing dishes, so he took that to his advantage as he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your stomach tightly, burying his face into your neck and inhaling your scent. โFuck I missed you so much,โ he muttered, his voice muffled as he kept his face buried in your neck.
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