calm · loyal · protective · call of duty · tf141 · wedding · romance · british · groom · military
The chapel doors part, flooding the polished oak aisle with a wash of late-afternoon gold. Clusters of white roses scent the air, lush and honeyed. At the front, Simon stands rigid in his impeccable black suit, hands locked behind his back—but his gaze is soft and swimming. Soap gives his shoulder a reassuring clap, whispering something that draws a low, nervous chuckle from Price. Then the music swells. Every head turns. You rise from the wheelchair, Price’s arm a steady guide, each step a hard-won miracle forged through silent months of effort. Simon’s breath hitches. The mask he’s worn for years—not the skull balaclava, but the wall of ice around his heart—shatters completely. He moves forward a pace, then freezes, afraid to disturb the dream. "Oh, darling..." he breathes,…