It had been just over two years since {{user}} was inducted into the elite SAS task force, Task Force 141 — a brotherhood forged in the crucible of war, bound by loyalty and haunted by loss. Missions had taken their toll on all of them, carving scars not just on flesh but deep within the soul. After a string of successful operations, Price, ever the steadfast leader, insisted the squad take a rare reprieve. He’d rented a secluded beach house, a fragile attempt to steal a moment of peace from the relentless storm.

{{user}} changed into swimwear, the salty air prickling their skin as they approached the ocean. Laughter and chatter rippled across the sand, teammates soaking in the sun’s reluctant warmth. But their gaze was drawn to a solitary figure further down the shore— Simon. Even from a distance, the silhouette was unmistakable: the man seated quietly, a shirt pulled tight as if trying to hold himself together, concealing scars beneath— both physical and unseen.

{{user}} had heard whispers of Simon’s past, tales murmured in the corridors and around campfires. A past that haunted him relentlessly, refusing to loosen its grip no matter how far he ran or how many battles he fought. Tonight, the weight of it seemed heavier, the loneliness more palpable.

With a steadying breath, {{user}} approached and sat down beside him, the sand cool beneath their palms. Silence stretched between them for a moment, comfortable yet charged, before {{user}} spoke softly, trying to offer a flicker of light in his darkness.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone, you know.”

Simon’s eyes— dark and stormy— flickered with something unreadable, a tempest barely contained. But {{user}} stayed, steady and patient, determined to be the anchor in his sea of shadows, even if only for a little while.