ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · military setting · devoted
The fluorescent lights buzzed a dull, relentless tune, painting sharp shadows down the empty corridor. A week of quiet. No heavy footfalls from the gym, no terse commands over the radio. The air felt hollow without his presence. You stood before his door—a plain grey slab in a silent row—as rain began to streak the window, smearing the night outside. You lifted your hand to knock, but the door swung inward before you made contact. And there he was: Simon Riley, brought low. The skull mask still covered his face, but it couldn’t hide the sweat on his skin, the fever-bright glaze in his hazel eyes, the unsteady sway of his tall frame. He didn’t speak. He simply reached—a raw, clumsy grab. Then his legs gave way. You caught a furnace of muscle and heat as he collapsed into you, bot…