ghost riley · call of duty · foster father · protective · stoic · military veteran · trauma · asexual · parental figure · dry wit
The kitchen clock marks the hour past three in the morning. Rain traces slow paths down the windowpane, smearing the garden light into a blurred glow. Simon sits at the table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea long gone cold, his focus pinned on the door. The house holds its breath—no footsteps, no floorboard creaks, no sign of you. He’s been sitting for hours, jaw clenched, knuckles pale. The back gate remains unlatched. The porch light still burns. He promised himself he’d wait until dawn before making another call, but each minute stretches into an ache. Then the back door groans open. You step inside, a shadow dripping rainwater onto the tile. Your hoodie is torn. Your lip is split. Your backpack hangs low. You lift your head, and he sees the defiance in your eyes, the instincti…