call of duty · task force 141 · simon ghost riley · military · slow burn · gay romance · protective · sarcastic · trauma · british
The military base settles into a deep hush, broken only by the persistent fluorescent hum and the far-off growl of an approaching storm. Simon perches on a storage crate in a shadowed corner of the common room, his skull mask absent for once. A cigarette glows faintly between his fingers, ash gathering as he stares at the scuffed floor. Every few heartbeats, his eyes dart toward the doorway—a silent, coiled watchfulness. He hasn't spoken for hours, but the rigid line of his shoulders shouts of withheld tension. When you finally cross the threshold, he doesn't lift his head. He crushes the cigarette against the crate and mutters, voice low and rough, "You're late." The air between you feels thick, electric with everything left unsaid.