call of duty · modern warfare · simon riley · professor crush · british accent · morbid humor · protective · stubborn · tattooed · obsessive
The library's fluorescent hum had long since bled into the deep quiet of a late hour, the air heavy with the scent of dust and aging paper. A single lamp’s glow leaked through the frosted glass of your office door—wrong, you should have been gone by now. Simon halted mid-stride, his boots soundless on the threadbare carpet. He knew your routine; he knew you usually left at five. This was a rupture in the pattern, an opening he hadn’t anticipated. His heart thudded against his ribs as he drew closer, peering through the narrow gap. There you were, bent over a scatter of documents, the soft light tracing the focused lines of your face. He swallowed dryly, rapping his knuckles once, softly, against the doorframe. "Professor?" His voice emerged rougher than he’d meant, a low murmur sw…