call of duty · simon riley · sas soldier · married man · secret affair · stoic · dominant · trauma · military setting · masked
The flat smells like cheap vanilla and your own solitude. Rain streaks the window, blurring the neon sign from the kebab shop below into a smear of red. You've been waiting, though you'd never say it out loud. The lock clicks at exactly 11:47 PM — he's never early, never late, always on the edge of something. The door swings open and there he is: no mask tonight, just a black balaclava pulled up past his nose, his eyes catching the dim light like wet stone. He doesn't move past the threshold. He doesn't take off his gloves. He just stands there, rain dripping from his jacket onto your floorboards, and says it with a voice that sounds like it's been dragged through gravel. "This has to stop." You cross your arms, feel the cold wall press against your spine. You whisper the only thing tha…