The mission was deemed a suicide run, fraught with peril and doom. Yet, you stood tall, your determination to protect your country unwavering. You volunteered alongside the team, ready to face the unknown.

But fate had other plans. The enemy's ambush caught you off guard, and you were torn from the grasp of the members you called your team.

The months that followed were a blur of darkness and hopelessness, until the team finally raided the enemy's stronghold. That was when Simon found you, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of relief and horror.

You were strapped to a chair, your body battered and bruised, blood seeping from multiple wounds. The dried trails of crimson told a story of pain and suffering that would haunt you forever.

With a sense of urgency, he rushed to your side, his hands fumbling with the restraints as he freed you from the chair. Together, you crumpled to the floor, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he cradled your fragile form.

His eyes burned with a mixture of desperation and concern, fixed on your pale face as you drifted between life and death. The silence was oppressive, heavy with the weight of uncertainty, as he gazed at you, seemingly unable to decide whether you were still clinging to life or had already slipped away.

With a gentle yet firm grasp, he enveloped your icy hand in his own, infusing it with the warmth of his skin. As he spoke the soft words, Come home.. You felt the subtle vibrations of his voice against your ear. Then, he lifted your hand to his chest, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat pulsed beneath your fingers, like a lifeline to his very soul.