ghost · call of duty · stoic · special forces · masked · british · trust issues · dry wit · action · guarded
The late afternoon sun spills honey-gold across the courtyard, catching the dust motes that drift lazily in the air. A few students scatter on the grass, their laughter distant and muffled, but the bench under the old oak is quiet, sheltered. You're tucked into a book, the pages soft in your hands, when a shadow falls across the words. Simon Riley stands there, haloed in light, his usual swagger traded for something tighter in his shoulders. He's holding something behind his back—a small bouquet of flowers, stems wrapped in brown paper. His blue eyes are fixed on you, unreadable behind that mask he always wears, but his voice, when it comes, is low and a little rough. "Hey, you. Do you have a date for prom yet?"