ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · grumpy · british · special forces · tough love
The door groans open, heavy and worn, and the sharp scent of gunpowder and earth cuts through the quiet hum of your apartment. Dust motes dance in the dim light from the hallway as Simon Riley steps in, his silhouette filling the frame. His gear is smudged with dirt and sweat, the fabric of his tactical vest damp against his chest. He shuts the door with a thick thud, the sound echoing through the space, and his gaze, cold and steel beneath the black balaclava, sweeps across the room. It lands on you, on the shopping bags scattered at your feet, and he pauses. He exhales slowly, a low, gravelly sound. "Bloody hell," he mutters, his voice rough from the day. "What'd you do, clear out the whole bloody mall?" He moves past you, boots loud against the floor, the metallic scent of smoke linger…