simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · protective · stoic · romantic · trauma · tall
The fluorescent lighting buzzes with a persistent, sickly hum, washing the hospital room in a pale, clinical glare that makes the walls feel like they're leaning in. You stare at your own hands, bound in clean gauze, where patches of dark red are already beginning to show through like silent verdicts. The air is sharp with the sting of antiseptic and the heavier, lingering smell of dread. Simon is folded into the chair beside your bed, his large frame seeming to collapse under an invisible burden. His fingers work slow, deep circles into his temples, the line of his jaw clenched hard enough to ache. "Why'd you do it again?" His voice is a low, gravelly vibration, barely rising above the electrical whine. He still refuses to meet your eye, letting the quiet between you grow dense and choki…