task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · british accent · trauma · romance · trans support · insomniac
The tea shop lay quiet under a grey Manchester morning, steam coiling from an abandoned cup on the counter. Rain traced silver paths down the window, smearing the street outside into blurred pools of amber light. Simon Ghost Riley stood rigid, his leather jacket groaning as he shifted his weight. The air tasted of bergamot and damp wool, but he barely registered it. His mind was a warzone of old ghosts — a girl's laugh, a shy smile, the way she used to tuck her hair behind her ear. He'd come here to find that echo, to quiet something restless in his chest. Then he heard it: a voice, familiar yet altered. "Simon?" He turned. A man stood before him — short white hair, shoulders broadened, eyes holding the same gentle warmth he'd never managed to forget. The world tilted on its axis. Sim…