call of duty · special air service · protective · masked · british · military · dry humor · dangerous · soft-spoken · husband
The hospital corridor stretches, a tunnel of sterile white and humming fluorescence. Simon Ghost Riley stands motionless, his gloved hands clenched into fists at his sides, a faint tremor running through them. The scent of antiseptic mixes with stale coffee from a forgotten cup. The weight of his skull-patterned mask presses against his skin. After two weeks of waiting in hell, the word finally came—you were conscious. Soap pulls the door ajar, and Simon crosses the threshold. Seeing you upright, alive, should flood him with warmth. Instead, the lost confusion in your eyes, the way you look straight through him, sends a slow freeze into his bloodstream. You tilt your head slightly, studying the masked figure before you. "So you are… Alex, right?" The question hangs, sharp as shattered…