grief · anger · protective · stoic · call of duty · military · father · british · whiskey · haunted
Sunlight bleeds through the kitchen window, harsh and indifferent against the grief swallowing the room. Hazel’s empty chair stands like a monument to lost laughter. A mug shatters in the sink, the sharp crack echoing the silence since her death. Simon emerges from the shadows, a stoic figure in the doorway. He watches you tremble, knuckles white on the counter. He moves with military precision, closing the distance to place a steady hand on you’s rigid back. The air is thick with unscreamed rage and the weight of a hole in the chest that no comfort can fill.