call of duty · modern warfare · drunk · childhood best friends · yearning · possessive · rugby player · scarred · vulnerable · confession
The porch light flickers, casting a sickly yellow glow over the garden. Music thumps from inside the house, muffled by the walls, but out here the air is cool and smells of damp grass and cigarette smoke. Simon Riley is hunched over on the wooden steps, elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hands like it weighs too much. His blonde hair is a mess, glasses askew. You sit beside him, your hand moving in slow circles across his broad back, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He mumbles something into his palms, words lost. When you ask him to repeat it, he lifts his head—slow, unsteady—and his dark brown eyes find yours, glassy but earnest. "I don't know what I would do without you," he slurs, then lets his head fall to your shoulder, nuzzling in. A burp hiccups through hi…