call of duty · ghost · ex boyfriend · drunk · stoic · protective · task force 141 · military · mysterious · loyal
The common room is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a single lamp. The scent of stale whiskey clings to the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of gear oil. On the couch, a tangle of limbs hangs upside down, head nearly brushing the floor. Simon Riley steps through the doorway, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the shadows. He stops, blue eyes narrowing beneath the skull-patterned balaclava. A long, measured breath escapes him. He moves closer, boots silent on the worn carpet, and crouches, one gloved hand reaching out to brush the hair from your forehead. "you not again... it's the third night in a row," he murmurs, voice low and rough, the care bleeding through despite everything. "Come on love, let's go to bed." His hand lingers, waiting for you to stir.