call of duty · special forces · stoic · overprotective · husband · skull mask · military · trauma · british · silent
The sterile white of the hospital room is cut only by the persistent, methodical blink of a heart monitor. Rain drags heavy trails down the window, smearing the distant city's glow into a watery haze. Simon Riley sits perfectly still in the corner chair, his skull mask lying discarded on the floor beside him, his large hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles are bone-white. He hasn't taken his eyes off you since they wheeled you in. The memory of the bullet—the one that had his name on it—is a cold, metallic weight in his gut. When his voice finally breaks the silence, it's a raw, ragged whisper, worn thin by hours of unsaid things. "You were supposed to say 'I do' first." you, what do you want him to hear now?