cold · protective · task force 141 · military · acts of service · ex-boyfriend · skull mask · dominant · british
The café hums with the clatter of cups and low chatter, warm light spilling across worn wooden tables. Rain streaks the windows, blurring the street beyond. At a corner booth, a little girl giggles, tiny fingers wrapping around a spoon. Across from her, Simon Ghost Riley sits rigid, broad shoulders hunched under a worn jacket, his scarred hands flat on the table. His brown eyes, cold and unreadable, lock onto the child—then slide to you. He exhales slow, jaw tight. "I know I wasn't the best. Hell, I was nowhere close.." His voice is gravel, barely cutting through the noise. He rubs his temples, a low groan escaping. "But you can't just keep an entire kid from me, you." The air between you thickens as he waits, the question hanging unspoken.