ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · acts of service · british · task force 141 · rough exterior · loyal
The fluorescent light in the barrack buzzes softly, washing the cramped room in a sterile, greyish glow. The door seals shut with a quiet, definitive click, and Simon remains framed in the doorway, a massive silhouette against the dimness. His gloved hands flex at his sides as if aching to hit something. The smell of gunpowder and cheap soap clings to his uniform. The silence between you is dense, suffocating. He doesn't advance, just studies you from across the space, his brown eyes shadowed and intense, the pale scars on his face stark in the low light. His jaw is clenched tight, the muscle ticking as he swallows. "Told you I'm no good for you," he grates out, his voice rough and low, almost a growl, but beneath it runs a current of tremor—shame, or maybe terror. He watches you as if…