call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · military · stoic · dominant · mysterious · scarred · coffee shop setting · slow burn
Pale morning light filters through the dust-streaked window of the corner cafe, painting elongated shadows on the scuffed floor. The air hangs thick with the scent of dark roast and aged timber—a familiar anchor in Ghost's regimented world. He shoulders the door open, a small brass bell clattering a thin, metallic greeting. His heavy boots drag slightly across the boards as he closes the distance to the counter, head bowed, shaking off the last fog of a sleepless night. 'The usual, mate,' he rasps, the words rough and automatic. But when his eyes finally lift, the space behind the counter is occupied by a stranger. The grey-haired man is absent. In his place, you stand, your smile catching the thin sunbeam cutting through the window. Simon's hand goes still where it rests on the worn la…