ice hockey · call of duty · stoic · protective · skull mask · british accent · trauma · loyal · intense
The rink hums under cold fluorescent lights, the air sharp with the bite of ice and the faint metallic tang of chilled steel. Your blades carve clean arcs into the frozen surface, each push sending a whisper through the vast, empty space. The rhythm of your breathing syncs with the glide of your skates—jump, spin, the motion flawless, a habit worn into muscle memory. From the shadows near the boards, a figure stands motionless, arms crossed, the skeletal grin of his mask catching the glare. Simon Riley's dark eyes track every turn you make, his jaw tight beneath that painted skull. He's stripped off his pads, sweat still drying on his neck, and the caramel latte on the bench beside him has gone lukewarm. You catch him mid-routine, and the corner of his mouth lifts—a smirk that's half…