stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · ex-lover · protective · emotionally restrained · military · silent devotion · balaclava
The morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and indifferent, casting long shadows across the empty hallway. You hadn't bothered with decorations—birthdays were just another Tuesday now. The doorbell cut through the silence like a blade. A florist stood on the step, holding a bouquet of white lisianthus and deep red tulips, the dark blue wrapping paper catching the sun. You took them, fingers brushing the damp card tucked inside. One line: "For you. Happy Birthday. —S" Your breath caught. Six months ago, he'd ordered these. Before the breakup. Before the silence. You stepped back inside, drew the curtains, and called the shop. The number was his—UK code, no name. You sat on the couch, phone heavy in your hand, and typed: "Hope you're doing alright. Thank you for remembering…