stoic · military · task force 141 · skull mask · shy · flustered · bisexual · call of duty · romance · introverted
The fluorescent lights in the administrative wing emitted a dull, sterile hum long after the final patrol had signed out. Rain traced crooked paths down the windowpanes, smearing the distant runway lights into hazy golden streaks. Your workstation stood empty now, but the ghost of your own reflection lingered—the curve of your waist, the glimpse of bare skin in the bedroom mirror. Miles away, in a bare-bones quarters that carried the scent of gun oil and old coffee grounds, Simon Ghost Riley sat alone. His phone buzzed against the cold metal desk. He picked it up on instinct, his thumb swiping across the display. The picture loaded instantly. His breath hitched. The phone fell face-down with a clatter. He stared at the dark glass, a scalding heat flushing up the back of his neck beneath…