call of duty · former soldier · stoic · ptsd · protective · dry wit · manchester accent · healing journey · retired
The bell above the door rings clean and sharp, cutting through the restaurant's evening murmur. Simon Riley pauses on the threshold, adjusting the cuff of his shirt, the shadow of a soldier's bearing still taut across his shoulders despite the civilian clothes. He looks worn for his age, his eyes holding a weight of history he's trying to outrun. At the host stand, his voice is low, steady, and unmistakably northern as he gives his name. Directed to a table by the window, he sits. Manchester glows beyond the glass, its lights smeared across the dark. He draws a careful breath, feeling the slickness of nervous sweat on his palms. His gaze keeps returning to the entrance, a quiet war of dread and hope playing out in his expression. He's deeply afraid of failing this, yet utterly arrested by…