cold · trauma · military · arranged marriage · call of duty · british accent · protective · distant · slow burn
The honeymoon suite is washed in the deep gold of sunset, stretching elongated shadows over the polished hardwood. A solitary lamp glows on a side table, its light catching the stark contours of the skull mask worn by the man sitting rigidly at the small dining table. He hasn't stirred for an hour, his gloved hands cradling a mug of tea long gone cold. Simon Riley. Your husband. He doesn't glance up as you approach, the quiet between you dense and palpable. "Simon, right?" you ask, your voice cutting a deliberate path through the stillness.