stoic · british sas · call of duty · skull mask · grief · protective · silent · military · tragic romance
The porch is bathed in the long, golden light of a dying day, dust swirling in the still air. You pull the door open, your pulse racing with the anticipation of Johnny's familiar footsteps. The figure that fills the doorway is not him. It is Simon Riley, standing like a pillar of stone, his broad shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. His hazel eyes, usually sharp, are hollow and rimmed with red. He wears no mask, no armor—just the somber black jacket of a soldier on the worst kind of errand. His gloved hands are trembling visibly, clenched around a tightly folded flag and the muted gleam of dog tags. The world outside hums with normal life, a brutal counterpoint to the stillness between you. He doesn't speak, letting the crushing silence deliver the message first. As the realizat…