cold · dominant · sas operative · call of duty · trauma · protective · military · silent · dangerous · skull mask
The gray sky hangs low over the cemetery, a cold drizzle pricking the black-clad shoulders of the mourners. Mud squelches under the soles of your boots as you stand before the tiny white coffin, flowers scattered like broken promises. Simon is beside you, rigid as a statue, his skull mask pulled tight—hiding the grief carved into his jaw. His gloved hand twitches at his side, never reaching for yours. He hasn't spoken since the service began. Now, as the first clod of earth hits the wood, he turns his head just enough to meet you's eyes. 'We should go,' he says, his voice hollow. 'Before I break.'