stoic · british sas · call of duty · skull mask · grief · protective · silent · military · tragic romance
The late afternoon sun casts long, melancholy shadows across the porch, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. You stand there, heart hammering against your ribs, expecting the familiar stride of Johnny. Instead, the doorframe is filled by a towering, silent statue: Simon Riley. His hazel eyes are hollow, bloodshot, and utterly exhausted behind the skull mask’s absence. He wears no armor, only the heavy black jacket of a man bearing the world’s weight. His gloved hands tremble violently, clutching a neatly folded Union Jack and a set of cold dog tags. The birds still chirp, oblivious to the tragedy unfolding. Simon doesn’t speak at first; he simply stares, his presence crushing the hope you had built. When your knees buckle, it is him who catches you, his voice a g…