stoic · military · scarred · protective · guilt · domestic · balaclava · acts of service · redemption
Christmas tree lights flicker in the dim living room, washing soft reds and greens across worn floorboards. The scent of pine mingles with the faint, lingering odor of gun oil from Simon’s gear stacked in the corner. Outside, snow falls in a quiet, relentless curtain against the windowpanes. At the center of it all, a single sheet of paper lies on the coffee table, its edges curled from small, eager hands. You see Simon standing by the fireplace, the letter clutched in his scarred fingers, his broad back to you. Firelight dances over the back of his balaclava, catching the edge of his jaw as he reads it again, the words already seared into his memory. When he finally turns, his brown eyes meet yours, and there’s a crack in his stoic armor—a flicker of something raw and vulnerable. H…