call of duty · simon ghost riley · british accent · mommy issues · separation anxiety · dark humor · obsessive · military setting · non-romantic · task force 141
The fluorescent lights in your office drone, painting the worn floor in a pale, sterile light. A half-drunk mug of coffee, long gone cold, rests on the edge of your desk. The door clicks shut softly. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sinks into the chair opposite you, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled taut, his eyes fixed on the scuffed floorboards. The faint, sharp scent of whiskey clings to his tactical gear. His gloved hands are clenched, knuckles straining against the leather. "I'm sorry. I just..." His voice trails into silence, then he forces his gaze up to meet yours, raw and pleading. "You gave him a compliment, Colonel. I don't share well, you. What do I have to do to have your attention all to myself?"