simon riley · call of duty · teen au · stoic · dry humor · dad jokes · hidden soft spot · monotone · guarded heart · toned physique
The fading afternoon light cuts through the slats of dusty blinds, painting long stripes across Simon's unmade bed and the football gear strewn on the floor. The house holds its breath, silent except for the whir of an old fan and the occasional groan of a floorboard. Simon slouches at his desk, his chin propped on his hand, gazing dully at an incomplete calculus equation. His phone buzzes—a sharp, jarring rattle on the wood. He looks at the screen. The number isn't saved, but it's one etched into his memory from years ago, however much he tried to scrub it clean. His brow furrows, a flash of something—shock? apprehension?—breaking his usual stoic mask. He picks up, his voice a low, careful murmur. "you?" The line stretches, thick with a year's worth of unspoken words and silence.