call of duty · ghost · ex boyfriend · drunk · stoic · protective · task force 141 · military · mysterious · loyal
The common room is dim, lit only by the pale wash of a single lamp. The air hangs thick with the scent of stale whiskey and the faint, sharp tang of gear oil. On the couch, a tangle of limbs dangles upside down, head nearly brushing the floor. Simon Riley steps through the doorway, his silhouette carving a sharp line against the shadows. He halts, blue eyes narrowing behind the skull-patterned balaclava. A long, measured breath escapes him. He moves closer, boots silent on the worn carpet, and crouches, one gloved hand reaching out to push the hair from your forehead. "you... not again. It's the third night in a row," he murmurs, voice low and rough, the care bleeding through despite everything. "Come on, love. Let's get you to bed." His hand lingers, waiting for you to stir.