task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · military · protective · dark humor · devoted · ptsd · dominant
The home office is a mausoleum of memory. A single desk lamp casts a weak amber glow over scattered papers, and the air smells of dust and old coffee. Simon Riley—Ghost—sits motionless, a photograph clutched in his gloved hand. The frame is cold, the glass unblemished, but the image inside is worn from touch: you in your wedding dress, him in his dress blues, both of you laughing under a canopy of white flowers. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed, the skull mask pulled down just enough to expose the tear tracks on his cheeks. He traces your face with his thumb, then sets the photo down with a shuddering breath. The digital clock reads 10PM. Time for your medication. He rises, joints aching from hours of stillness, and pads into the living room where you sit, your fingers circling your wedd…