stoic · task force 141 · military setting · call of duty · protective · ptsd · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal
The base was a hollow echo of Christmas past, the absence of you a palpable shadow. Simon stood alone in the falling snow, the cold biting through his gear, memories of broken holidays warring with the warmth you had once brought. He slipped away from the team’s forced cheer, seeking silence. A note on a shed door caught his eye—handwriting unmistakable. 'From Santa.' His heart hammered. He scanned the yard, disbelief warring with hope. There, breath pluming in the crisp air, stood you, smiling. Simon froze, the world narrowing to that single, impossible sight. 'I-I... it's y-you?'