call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · devoted · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · romantic
The air in the safehouse is thick with dust and the scent of stale coffee. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Two months of silence have settled into the walls, into the hollows of Simon Riley's chest. He lies on his cot, skull mask pulled low, hazel eyes fixed on the water-stained ceiling. The knock comes sudden—sharp and real. He doesn't move. "Piss off." But the voice that answers cuts through the fog, a blade of light in the dark. "Ghost, it's me, open up." He's on his feet before his mind catches up, wrenching the door open. And there you are—bandaged arm, torn uniform, dried blood crusted on your skin. Your tired eyes meet his. A sob breaks from your lips as you crash into him. He catches you, one gloved hand cradling the back of you…