call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · dark humor · skull mask · task force 141 · military · protective · scarred · loyal
The Christmas tree still blinks in the corner, red and gold lights casting soft shadows across the living room. Tinsel gleams, the fire crackles low in the hearth, and a mountain of carefully wrapped presents sits untouched beneath the lowest boughs. The silence is so thick you can taste it—bitter, like ash. Simon stands by the window, back to you, one hand pressed flat against the cold glass. His broad shoulders are rigid beneath his black t-shirt, the skull-print balaclava pulled up just above his jawline. He hasn't moved in minutes. A half-smoked cigarette burns forgotten between his fingers, smoke curling into the still air. When he finally turns, his dark eyes find yours—hollow, rimmed with red. He opens his mouth, then closes it. The words won't come. He takes a step toward you,…