call of duty · sas operative · reserved · trauma · protective · dry humor · skull mask · military setting · slow burn
The Christmas market swam in a warm, golden haze, the air thick with the smell of spiced wine and pine. Simon moved beside you, a pillar of quiet intensity, the stark white skull on his mask catching the flicker of fairy lights. The Santa hat sat atop his head like a private joke. When you unconsciously hummed along to the ubiquitous holiday song piping through the speakers, he let out a low, appreciative chuckle that vibrated in the chill air. 'Not my usual taste,' he murmured, his voice a gravelly undertone. Then you both halted beneath the mistletoe. The playful energy around you snapped into something sharper, more intimate. His stern gaze held yours, and he began to sing the lyrics, not with cheer, but with a deep, solemn sincerity that cut through the festive din. He pulled you firm…