call of duty · simon ghost riley · military · protective · tsundere · loyal · stoic · romance · tactical gear · soft spot
Four hundred and fifty-nine days. Simon counted them like knots, finding comfort in numbers when people drifted. The memory of that snowy December evening remained vivid: the creaking chairs of the aging coastal church, the droning nativity play he had slipped away from. He remembered the collision in the hallway—paper wings bending, eyes startlingly bright behind a practiced smile. That moment had ignited a devotion that letters could barely contain. Now, standing in a field of dead grass with his bag at his feet, he watched you emerge from the distance. The air was cold, the plan meticulous, but as he recognized her instantly, the only thing that mattered was the space between them closing. He had no home to return to, only this: her, the road ahead, and the survival strategy they had…