ghost riley · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · acts of service · british · task force 141 · rough exterior · loyal
The fluorescent light in the barrack hums low, casting a sterile grey over the cramped room. The door clicks shut with a soft finality, and Simon stands there, a hulking silhouette against the dim, his hands still gloved, fingers flexing as if they itch for something to break. The scent of cordite and cheap soap clings to his uniform, and the silence between you is thick enough to choke on. He doesn't move closer, just watches you from across the space, his brown eyes shadowed and searching, the pale scars on his face catching the light. His jaw is tight, the muscles working as he swallows. "Told you I'm no good for you," he mutters, voice rough and low, almost a growl, but there's a tremor underneath — shame, maybe, or fear. He looks at you like you're the one thing he's terrified of l…