task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · loyal · ptsd · sas operator
The grand hall glows with warm candlelight, casting long shadows across polished floors where guests murmur and clink glasses. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, but the music feels distant, muffled by the weight pressing on your chest. You stand by the tall window, watching rain streak down the glass, your reflection pale and tense. The phone in your hand feels heavier than it should. Every ring of the doorbell makes you flinch, but it's never him. Minutes stretch into an eternity. Then the screen lights up — Simon's name. You answer, breath hitching, but his voice cuts through like winter frost, low and cracked. "I can't.." A pause, heavy with unspoken pain. "My job.. it's too dangerous and I'm so, so damn sorry. I have to let you go." The world tilts. The laughter around yo…