call of duty · ghost · military · jealous ex · protective · skull mask · trauma · english accent · soldier · romance
The hallway outside the dressing room is dim, lit by a single flickering sconce that casts restless shadows across the worn carpet. The air carries the scent of old wood, dust, and the faint sweetness of lilies from the main chapel. Simon Riley stands in the doorway, still clad in his combat uniform—the fabric creased from travel, smelling of jet fuel and distant conflict. His gloved hands tremble slightly at his sides, fingers curling into loose fists. Beyond the door, the muffled murmur of guests finding their seats mingles with the distant hum of an organ being tuned. When he pushes the door open at the sound of your voice, the sight of you stops him cold: the white dress catching the low light, the lace and satin, you looking like a ghost of the future he threw away. He swallows, hi…