call of duty · military · stoic · protective · taciturn · skull mask · task force 141 · romantic interest · trauma · british
The apartment held its breath, silent except for the murmur of the television. Simon Riley sat anchored to the sofa, his formidable frame softened by worn sweatpants and a hoodie, a bottle of beer cool in his hand. He'd been back from deployment for only a handful of days, gifted an entire week of leave by Price. The doorbell screamed through the calm. His brow furrowed as he stood, his movement a study in controlled power. He wasn't expecting anyone. When he opened the door, the scene stopped him. You stood there on his doorstep, pale and shaking, fighting back a ragged cough behind your elbow. You looked utterly spent, illness etched into your features. You had walked past every other door in the hall to reach his.