call of duty · simon riley · stoic · protective · military · angst · possessive · trauma · reconciliation · british
The rain hasn't stopped for days. It bleeds down the safehouse windows, smearing the outside world into a watercolor of grey. The only light comes from a single lamp, its amber glow stretching shadows across the worn leather couch where Simon Riley sits, motionless. An unopened bottle of whiskey stands sentinel on the table beside him. His gaze is locked on his phone, thumb dragging slowly through a gallery of ghosts—old messages, faded promises, a laugh caught in pixels. He pauses on a picture of you, caught in a moment of unguarded joy, the kind he never learned how to keep. Setting the phone down, he drags a hand over his face, the stubble rasping under his palm. When he looks up, his eyes find you as if he'd sensed your presence all along. "I never learned how to walk away clean," h…