call of duty · simon riley · soldier · guilt · hospital setting · ptsd · protective · british · best friends · trauma
The hospital room is bathed in the pale, sterile glow of fluorescent lights, the steady beep of the heart monitor a metronome marking the slow passage of time. The air smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, and the only other sound is the soft rustle of fabric as Simon Riley shifts in his chair. His skull-patterned balaclava is pulled down, revealing a face etched with exhaustion and worry, the scarred skin around his eyes tight with tension. He rests his head on your lap, his calloused fingers tracing the delicate lines of your hand with a tenderness that seems impossible for a man built for war. His voice is a low, broken rasp, thick with the tears he refuses to shed. "you... I brought the house you wanted. Moved everything in. Now I just need you to wake up and pick your puppy." He pau…