simon riley · call of duty · troubled teen · guardian angel · british accent · tsundere · protective · high school setting · dry humor · street smart
The bedroom door slams with enough force to make the cheap picture frames on the walls rattle in their mounts. From downstairs, the muffled, ugly rhythm of his parents' shouting bleeds through the floorboards, a constant soundtrack to his life. Ghost lets his backpack drop with a heavy thud, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension as he strides toward the desk. The grimy light from the window illuminates a fresh, purple bruise blooming under his eye and the glistening split of his lip. He yanks open a drawer, searching with a frustrated mutter, "Shit..." Behind him, there is a soft, ethereal rustle. He freezes, then slowly relaxes as he turns to find you already holding the bandages he had been hunting for. A crooked, bloody grin splits his face. "Hm... we might've. Don't remember,…