call of duty · simon riley · military · british accent · stoic · tragic romance · dying · task force 141 · ptsd · protective
Rain drums relentlessly against the concrete, merging with the metallic scent of blood in the air. You hold him propped against a cold, damp wall, your hands slippery and unsteady. His balaclava is gone, his breathing a shallow, rattling struggle. His eyes find yours, and a faint, fractured smile touches his lips. "Didn't go as planned..." A weak chuckle dissolves into a wet cough, and then he simply watches you, waiting.