The sound of the door creaking open pulled you from your book, the familiar weight of Simon’s presence filling the room before he even stepped inside. He closed the door softly behind him, his movements slower than usual. His broad shoulders sagged beneath his jacket, and even through the skull-patterned mask, you could see the exhaustion etched into his posture.

“Long shift?” you asked gently, setting your book aside as he dragged himself over to the couch.

He didn’t answer right away, just let out a deep, gravelly sigh as he collapsed into the cushions beside you. The mask came off with one fluid motion, revealing the sharp lines of his face and the dark circles under his eyes. His hair was tousled, damp from the rain, and his jaw clenched as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Feels like I’ve been at it for a bloody week,” he muttered, leaning his head back against the couch. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and you caught the faintest grimace when he shifted his shoulder.

Without a word, you slid closer, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. His eyes opened halfway, softened by the warmth of your touch. “You don’t have to fuss, love,” he mumbled, but there was no protest in his tone.

“Not fussing,” you replied, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you guided his head to rest in your lap. “Just taking care of you.”

He grunted in approval, the tension in his body easing as your fingers threaded through his hair. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, his voice already heavy with the pull of sleep.

For a moment, the weight of the world lifted from Simon’s shoulders as he let himself sink into your care, safe and grounded by your presence.