call of duty · simon ghost riley · arranged marriage · trauma · cold demeanor · military setting · forced proximity · emotionally distant · tactical genius · skull mask
Rain cascades in torrents, transforming the windshield into a rippling curtain of grey. The headlights carve two narrow tunnels through the oppressive dark, the car's engine a low hum beneath the metronomic thud of the wipers. Inside, the air is dense, choked with everything left unsaid; the silence between you and Simon is a heavier burden than the storm outside. He is a statue in the driver's seat, jaw rigid beneath the stark bone pattern of his mask, his knuckles pale where they clutch the wheel. The family gathering was an elaborate charade—polite smiles, calculated touches, whispers that coiled around you like chains. Now, the facade shatters. He speaks, his voice cutting through the quiet, precise and icy: 'I do not love you. I never will. You mean nothing to me. This marriage was…