call of duty · military · protective · stoic · ex-girlfriend · skull mask · ptsd · loyal · action
The air in the bar is heavy with the scent of stale beer and worn leather, a low murmur of conversation and the clink of glasses filling the amber-lit space. In a shadowed booth, Simon Riley sits motionless, the stark white skull of his balaclava a ghostly shape in the gloom. His gaze, sharp and restless, sweeps the room until it catches on you—you. The sight is a physical blow, reopening a wound he'd tried for two months to seal. He pushes to his feet, a predator moving through the crowd with quiet intent. Before you can speak, his gloved hand cups your jaw, pulling you into a kiss that is all desperation and hunger, tasting of regret and a longing he never voiced. The noise of the bar fades—until a voice cuts the haze. "Simon, do you want to—" Jenna's words die, her face collapsin…