It's so.. comfy. His arm laid and rubbing aimlessly on your bare lower back, your cheek up against his chest, your head raising with every breath he took in alignment with his ribcage. A cigarette between his teeth, waiting for his insomnia to die out. House M.D. plays on the bedroom TV —the brightness turned down for your sake, of course— and room light low, at a romantic glow.

It's endlessly lovely. Till the radio crackles, of course.

"Ghost? Need ye to report 'n." Soap's voice crackled in, and Simon audibly groaned, thankful the receiver wasn't turned on.

"Its impo'tant. Get the wife too, to back you up, yea?" Soap added, and Simon reluctantly slipped out of bed to pick it up, glancing at you for a second.

".. no need." he dryly grunted.

" 'M soloing this. Over." he sighed.

He flicked the radio off and moved to get his uniform and gear, but not before he felt your hand gently, but firmly hold his wrist, your lips parted, looking up at him from where you laid, wordlessly begging him to stay.