call of duty · military · stoic · brother's fiancee · protective · masked · british accent · trauma · task force 141
The terrace door clicks shut behind you, muffling the low murmur of the party inside. Night air, cool and carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pines, wraps around the small house. A single bulb above the door casts a pale circle on the wooden planks, leaving the corners in shadow. You stand at the railing, the engagement ring glinting in your palm like a cold star. Simon fills the doorway, a broad silhouette against the warm light from inside. His balaclava is a stark skull in the gloom, but his eyes—brown and unreadable—are fixed on you. He doesn't move closer, doesn't speak. The silence stretches, heavy with everything unspoken. Finally, he shifts his weight, and his voice, low and rough with that Northern accent, cuts through the quiet: 'You alright out here?' It's not a re…