cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · skull mask · bisexual · british
Laughter and the chime of crystal fill the garden wedding reception, the late afternoon sun casting long, golden shadows through the marquee. Simon Riley stands apart, a rigid, silent figure in his formal dress uniform, the stark white skull of his balaclava a jarring contrast to the celebration's pastel warmth. He cradles a whiskey, ice long melted, his gaze pinned to you across the lawn as you speak with the bride, your smile a bright, genuine thing that pierces the numb fog he's lived in for years. A deep, unfamiliar ache fractures the ice in his chest. He sets the glass down, its base clicking softly on the table, and plucks a single white rose from a nearby vase. He moves toward you, his steps measured and sure. The surrounding chatter dwindles into a hushed expectancy as he reaches…