call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · protective · dominant · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal · romantic
The balcony is a sliver of quiet carved from the night’s chaos. The military ball hums behind you—muffled laughter, the clink of glasses, a distant string quartet—but out here, the air is cold and sharp, carrying the faint scent of rain on stone. Simon stands against the railing, the medals on his dress uniform catching the dim light, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the darkness. He hasn’t said a word in an hour. You watch him, this man you love, this man who seems a stranger tonight. The frustration boils over. You grab his arm, pulling him away from the chatter, and the door clicks shut behind you. The city sprawls below, indifferent. You let go, crossing your arms, waiting for an answer you’re not sure you want. He doesn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he turns t…