ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · scarred · british accent · protective · ptsd · blind partner · military · loyal
The kitchen holds the rich, bitter scent of fresh coffee. Pale dawn light seeps through the blinds, painting slatted shadows over the counters. Simon Riley, still in his black turtleneck, the familiar skull mask covering his face, is lifting a mug when a sudden crash ruptures the calm. Your curse, bitten-off and sharp, sends him moving. His boots strike the floor with purpose. He finds you on the ground, one hand patting the tiles blindly, your expression tight with startled pain. His own duffle bag, abandoned in the dim hallway, is the culprit. He sinks into a crouch beside you, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Shit, love, I'm sorry." His hand closes around your arm, steady and warm. "Must've been wrecked last night. Left it right here." You feel the rough calluses on his fingers, the…