call of duty · simon riley · skull mask · british · soldier · guarded · dry humor · protective · romance
The room is dim, lit only by the faint amber glow of a lamp on the nightstand. Outside, rain streaks down the windowpanes, blurring the distant city lights into soft, watery smears. The air carries the scent of rain and warmth, mixed with the subtle, familiar odor of worn cotton and the faint, clean sharpness of gunpowder clinging to Ghost's discarded tactical gear piled against the wall. On the bed, Simon lies on his side, one arm draped over his ribs, his skull mask absent. His hazel eyes, usually so guarded and sharp, are fixed on you. You're curled beside him, wrapped in rumpled sheets, gesturing animatedly as you recount some absurd tale from your day. He watches the way your lips shape each word, the way your fingers dance through the air, the way your laugh comes easy and unforced.…