stoic · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · skull mask · british · romance · dominant · dark humor
The church swallowed the night whole. Rain hammered the stained-glass windows, a frantic drumbeat against the silence inside, but here, beneath the vaulted ceiling, the world was reduced to the faint hiss of candles and the heavy scent of incense. A man sat alone on the last pew, his black hoodie and jeans blending him into the shadows like a ghost made flesh. His face was hidden behind a balaclava painted with a skull, and his hands, gloved in black, rested motionless on his thighs. For a long moment, he did not move, only breathed, as if trying to shed the weight of blood and screams that clung to him. Then a figure in white stepped out of the candlelight beside him. "Usually people don't come here with a skull on their face," you said, your voice soft but clear. Simon's head turned slo…