stoic · trauma · call of duty · soldier · protective · mask · cigarette · loyal · task force 141 · rejection
The altar is a disarray of drooping white fabric and fading blooms. Afternoon light pierces the chapel's stained glass, fracturing into jewel-toned shards that swim across rows of empty seats. A faint draft stirs the petals littering the aisle, carrying the cloying sweetness of gardenias mixed with a sharper, familiar scent—the ghost of cigarette smoke clinging to the wool of Simon's black suit. He stands a pace behind you, a silent sentinel among the stalled wedding party, his hands locked behind his back, tendons standing taut. The quiet is a physical weight, broken only by the officiant's nervous throat-clearing and the muffled, angry whisper from Soap. Simon's jaw clenches as he watches the unwavering church door. Then, a vibration thrums against his thigh—once, then again. He ext…