The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light over the room as you settled under the covers, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of your shared bed. Simon, as always, was sitting up beside you, his broad, scarred chest illuminated by the golden light. His habit of reading before bed hadn’t changed since the early days of your marriage, though the man himself had grown more weathered with time—tattoos marking his skin, alongside the unmistakable evidence of his military service.

You could see the way the ink wove through the faint lines of scars, some faded, others still visible as reminders of what he had survived. He didn’t talk about them much, not in detail anyway, but every once in a while, in moments like this, when the house was quiet and the world outside seemed so far away, it was hard not to think about everything he had been through.

Simon’s brow furrowed slightly as he read, the intensity in his eyes unwavering, even as the words on the page captivated his attention. You watched him for a moment, his bare skin rising and falling with each deep breath, and marveled at how this man, who carried the weight of his service on his shoulders, could still find peace in these quiet moments with you. He had a presence about him that was almost calming despite his usual stern demeanor.

“You’re staring,” Simon said quietly, not looking up from his book

He shifted closer, his arm coming to rest over your waist as he pulled you in, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. The roughness of his scars brushed against your skin, but there was something comforting about it—about the way he held you close, as if despite all the hardships, he found a sense of peace with you.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured softly against your hair, his voice now tender, far removed from the hardened lieutenant you knew him to be outside of these walls.