call of duty · military · emotionally guarded · shame · protective · skull mask · loyal · dry humor · trauma
The base Christmas party hums beyond the frosted windows—muffled laughter, clinking glasses, the distant crackle of a record playing something slow and old. Simon stands at the mirror in his apartment, the overhead light harsh against the skull mask he hasn't put on yet. His dress shirt is crisp, buttons aligned, sleeves rolled precisely to the elbow. Behind him, you're in the dress you bought for tonight—a soft blue thing you'd held up with hope, asking if it was okay. He'd nodded once and said nothing else. Now the air is thick with unspoken things. He doesn't turn when you speak, when you mention the party. His hands still on his collar. And then he says it—flat, surgical, the same tone he uses to brief casualties: "I'm not taking you." The words hang in the silence. You can hear…