call of duty · simon ghost riley · drunk · ex-lovers · angst · stoic · military · vulnerable · british · trauma
The single lamp on the nightstand paints the barracks room in stark, lonely angles, its glow just enough to outline the half-empty whiskey bottle and the phone beside it. Simon sits on the edge of the cot, his mask discarded on the thin mattress, his gaze locked on the screen displaying a number he swore he'd forget. His knuckles are bone-white as he presses call. It rings once. Twice. Then your voice cuts through the heavy quiet. 'Simon?' He swallows, the sound audible, his own voice emerging low and graveled with drink and disuse. 'Just wanted to hear yours.' A pause stretches, thick with everything unspoken. 'How are you?'