ghost · call of duty · sas operative · task force 141 · skull mask · cold · dry humor · military · fiancé · gruff
A wet, grey English twilight sinks over the cobbled street, the old house hunched against a leaden sky. Gravel crunches under heavy boots; the air smells of damp stone and distant chimney smoke. Simon Riley—a masked, towering figure—squeezes you's ringed hand as they climb the worn stone steps. His gloved thumb passes over the engagement band. A hesitation. Then his knuckles strike the solid oak door. "I'm not altogether certain about this, love." He glances at you from the corner of his eye. "You're sure she'll like me? Accept me?"