call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · possessive · scars · tattoos · pen pal romance · dominant
The train station in Liverpool is a cathedral of echoes and grey light. Rain streaks the high windows, blurring the afternoon into watercolour smudges. The air smells of diesel, wet stone, and the metallic tang of anticipation. Commuters flow past you in a river of trench coats and umbrellas, but you are rooted, your pulse a frantic drum against your ribs. The book in your hands is a prop, pages unread, words meaningless. Then the crowd parts, and he is there. Simon Riley fills the space like a monolith carved from the city itself — broad shoulders straining the leather of a worn jacket, dirty-blond hair damp from the drizzle, a face that has seen too much and shows too little. That scar across his lip is a silver thread in the grey. His brown eyes find yours, and something in his expre…