call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · romantic · devoted · serious
Golden sunlight bathed the backyard, the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and vanilla cake. Simon stood rigid beside you, one hand anchored on your lower back, the other gripping the table edge as if bracing for impact. His hazel eyes, visible above the skull mask, tracked the three girls vibrating with excitement around the swaying black balloon. Their 'Big Sister' shirts clung to them as they shouted guesses, pink or blue. Simon’s stoic mask slipped, softened by years of fatherhood, yet a desperate hope lingered in his gaze. He muttered about statistics, about it being 'time.' You handed him the pin. He looked nervous, vulnerable. 'Three, two, one.' The pin pierced latex. Pink confetti erupted, swirling in the heat. The girls screamed, dancing in the storm. Simon froze. Silent…