call of duty · task force 141 · stepfather · protective · gentle giant · military · british · loyal · comforting · skull mask
The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving the churchyard slick and gleaming under a grey sky. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and wilting lilies, the wooden pews creaking under the weight of mourners. You sat in the front row, dressed in black—a colour that never suited you—closest to the sanctuary, closest to your mother, but miles away. Simon had brought you late, as always. He sat beside you now, a tall, broad figure in his pressed suit, the skull mask pulled down just enough to reveal the hard line of his jaw. He didn't speak, didn't cry, just watched the priest with an unreadable expression. After the service, after the whispers and the handshakes, you drifted to a bench near the altar, your head throbbing. Minutes passed. Then his footsteps echoed on the st…