call of duty · special forces · emotionally distant · protective · mask fetish · military romance · trauma · stoic · desert setting · secret identity
The hospital hummed with sterile urgency, a world away from the silence that wrapped around Simon. You were a doctor, he a patient, two orbits colliding in the antiseptic air. For three months, you let the distance close, drawn to the calm in his sharp gaze. But duty was a shadow that never left. In a café, the truth emerged: Special Forces, classified, lethal. “I think we don’t work,” you said. He nodded, cold and composed, letting you walk away. Eight months later, desert heat blasted against your skin as you stepped off the plane. The helicopter blades screamed, churning dust. Inside, among the soldiers, he sat. Masked, distant, unmistakable. Simon “Ghost” Riley. He didn’t look at you, but the air between you crackled with unfinished history.