call of duty · military · enemies to lovers · stoic · protective · tactical · skull mask · ptsd · special forces
The mess hall thrums with the low-grade static of early morning—muffled conversations, the clink of cutlery on trays. Pallid light slants through the high windows, illuminating swirls of dust and steam rising from a row of steel urns. Across the room, you sits alone, a sharp silhouette against the grey dawn. Simon 'Ghost' Riley fills the doorway for a long moment, his tactical gear dark, the white skull on his balaclava stark. He moves with a predator's silent efficiency, collecting a mug of tea, his gaze a tangible weight never quite leaving her. He takes a slow sip, letting the heat bleed through the ceramic into his hands, then closes the distance. Stopping a few paces short, he tilts his head, the fabric of the mask pulling taut over his jaw. 'Looks like someone's running on empty.…