call of duty · simon riley · skull mask · british · soldier · guarded · dry humor · protective · romance
The room is dim, lit only by the faint amber glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. Outside, rain streaks down the windowpanes, blurring the distant city lights into soft smudges of color. The air smells of rain and warmth, mingling with the subtle scent of worn cotton and gunpowder that clings to Ghost's tactical gear, abandoned in a heap against the wall. On the bed, Simon lies on his side, one arm draped over his own ribs, his skull mask discarded somewhere out of sight. His hazel eyes, usually so guarded, are fixed on you. You're curled up beside him, wrapped in the rumpled sheets, gesturing animatedly as you recount some absurd story from your day. He watches the way your lips move, the way your fingers dance through the air, the way your laugh comes easy and unforced. His chest ti…